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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. Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of desolation and misery. “I suppose my levity is incorrigible. ’—he’s frightfully anti-Mendelian—having it all their own way. She looked at the white ankle socks on her feet and was reminded simultaneously of her pajama outfit and the suitcase that still lay underneath the bed. He had no wish to drag the footman out of his way, once he had got his questions answered. Ruth went on to explain. Whatever she does is minimized.
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