” 152 < 19 > THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the school. It's gin—a liquor you used to like. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. His foot tapped impatiently, and he took up the papers. I tell you what, Mr. “I really do not believe,” he announced with satisfaction, “that any one would recognize me. There was a loose button on that coat, and I want to sew it on. "It is not too late to repair the wrong I have done my nephew," cried Trenchard. "By all means," returned Wood; "don't delay an instant.
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