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Anna, in her strange striking way, was radiantly beautiful. "You are all right?"—anxiously. Good night. ” 152 < 19 > THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the school. Occasionally he relit his pipe. "You are free," said he, "that grating forms a ladder, by which you may descend in safety. Her little white hand stole across the table.
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