” 152 < 19 > THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the school. “The nurse will fetch the doctor directly. " "I do remember it, Sir," replied Mrs. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. All at once she realised that Kimble had halted, leaning heavily against the wall. The Times slipped from his fingers. Do not let her think worse of me than I deserve,—or even so ill. Practically it was most of the chief interests in life that she proposed to settle in this pedestrian meditation.
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