” 152 < 19 > THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the school. “Ruin me? For what? Posterity? How could you ruin me, Lucy? What on earth are you talking about?” He got up and began to pace the room. “All your dreadful scientific things?” he said, with a smile that Miss Klegg thought extraordinarily kindly. "He has not the power—perhaps not the will to do so. ‘That was one of my own clever stories. What he needed most in this hour was a bottle of American rye-whisky and a friendly American bar-keep to talk to. "I tell you what, Mr. ” “I don’t care.
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