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.
yy6, "What, indeed?" says Geoffrey, tragically. "Worse still, what would have become of poor Mona?"
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yy6 "Well, she danced like a fairy, at all events, in spite of her size," says Sir Nicholas, alluding to the person the funny story had been about..
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