” 152 < 19 > THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the school. It was long and narrow, with a ceiling supported by huge uncovered rafters, and so low as scarcely to allow a tall man like himself to stand erect beneath it. ’ ‘Precisely,’ Gerald repeated. He would have to sit down here in Canton and wait, perhaps for weeks. Then Mr. It was a work of no slight danger, for every instant a wall, or fragment of a building, came crashing to the ground. ’ ‘Dieu du ciel,’ burst from mademoiselle as she jumped up. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. “I’ve had most of the things I wanted,” said Ramage, in the stillness of the night.
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