It is ten days later. The air is growing brisker, the flowers bear no new buds. More leaves are falling on the woodland paths, and the trees are throwing out their last bright autumn tints of red and brown and richest orange, that tell all too plainly of the death that lies before them.
TC-Lottery, "Oh, no, I'm not clever," says Mona; "but"—nervously and with downcast eyes, addressing Geoffrey—"I might perhaps be able to make you a little more comfortable."
◆ Messages, Voice
TC-Lottery, Video
TC-Lottery
Enjoy voice and video
TC-Lottery And Mona, rousing herself from her unsatisfactory reverie, draws her breath quickly and then moves homeward..
**********