” 152 < 19 > THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the school. And yet—I love you. John knew everybody, it seemed. It had gone with the rest. Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way. Michelle looked at their reflections in the wall mirror. It was a look that accorded very well with the hayloft setting that had come to mind. Hers were less noble, yet stately. Their faces were masks of abject horror, sunken and shriveled, their cheekbones protruding. And go quickly that I may finish to search. Yes, very well.
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