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” 152 < 19 > THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the school. A. . “You are not content then with stealing from me my name. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. Love is a great thing, and happiness a joy. Even in her painting smock and with her disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls was marvellous. It felt too good. \"Hi Mark. “I am so sorry to have startled you,” she said, “but I was startled myself. He will be hanged—hanged—hanged.
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