“I have a letter for you, and no end of messages. The lady whose husband had been Mayor of Hartlepool looked at Anna and sniffed. I've got to know why. C. ” 152 < 19 > THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the school. All the same, I wish I had that fellow by the throat! Just the virile, unregenerate man in me wishes that. She feasted reluctantly, partly out of wonder at the new function of her often elongated canines. From long experience with both races he had acquired definitions, but none snugly applied to this girl. She returned home through a world that was as roseate as it had been gray overnight.
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