Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. ” 152 < 19 > THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the school. The pistol was lowered slightly. Coarse as were the ruffian's notions of feminine beauty, he could not be insensible to the surpassing loveliness of the fair creature, who had thus solicited his attention. The tension was palpable.
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