Remember what the conjuror said. It never has had. ” 152 < 19 > THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the school. When he came to a certain sentence in Brendon’s letter he stopped short and looked up at her. \"Want your pencil back?\" She asked him warily, squinting. A great bowl of scarlet carnations gleamed from a dark corner, set against the background of a deep brown wall. If he stayed in the basement apartment as was his usual habit, she would have no problem. It is she that I must see.
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