" "I ondershtand," replied the skipper, putting his finger to his nose; "it shall be done. I won't keep you long. “I must go. ” 152 < 19 > THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the school. The doctor sensed that his bolt had gone wrong, but he could not tell how or why. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. She turned back into the hall. Probably he has something to say and can't say it, or he writes well about nothing.
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