” 152 < 19 > THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the school. She had followed a bobbing white hat and gray jacket until she reached the Euston Road corner of Tottenham Court Road, and there, by the name on a bus and the cries of a conductor, she made a guess of her way. “Lucy, have you noticed that I don’t even own a dog?” He spoke into her hair. And yet I know not—for the object of his visit here to-night was to serve Jack, who, if your statement is correct, which I cannot however for a moment believe, does not deserve his assistance. Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door. But here it is China. For all that she was of exceptional intellectual enterprise, she had never yet considered these things with unaverted eyes.
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