” 152 < 19 > THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the school. "I'll tell you," replied Jack, with forced calmness. You must—you shall be mine. ” He strode away and vanished in the gathering fog. There was a very white-faced youngster of eighteen who brushed back his hair exactly in Russell’s manner, and was disposed to be uncomfortably silent when he was near her, and to whom she felt it was only Christian kindness to be consistently pleasant; and a lax young man of five-and-twenty in navy blue, who mingled Marx and Bebel with the more orthodox gods of the biological pantheon. But not today. Wood turned to look at him. . The winter had turned sea and sky to a wet gray. One cannot successfully argue with a drunken man.
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