” 152 < 19 > THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the school. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. Manning displayed distress. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. Jolly nice girl, too. It did affect the business that they all argued badly and were egotistical in their manners and inconsistent in their phrases. Side by side with the cheese (its never-failing accompaniment, in all seasons, at the carpenter's board) came a tankard of swig, and a toast. ’ Lucy giggled. Only after he had pushed himself completely inside was the friction lessened. ‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door. The fair boy in the audience who had waved was yet another suitor. Feigning an air of casualness, Lucy asked the obvious. “But you’re wrong.
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