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They don’t now. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. "Rather a devil," groaned her son, "to have done this. "Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content. She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless. 265 The madness crept around her like smoke under a door.
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