The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. "Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment. A dry cough's the trumpeter of death. ” She spoke rather quickly, because she found her father’s question the most awkward she had ever had to answer in her life. A sudden knock at the door startled her. “You must do more than think of it,” he urged.
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