“What do you mean, Annabel? You only knew Mr. “Dear John,” she whispered. ” 152 < 19 > THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the school. ‘Sit down, won’t you?’ He crossed back to Roding and said low-voiced. So appalling was the sight, that even the murderers—familiar as they were with scenes of slaughter,—looked aghast at it. “I have the right of the man who loves you,” he declared.
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