IN OCTOBER
nance of some French Canadian chanson. His heart and his lungs seemed fairly to have exploded in relief.
And over the little house, and the dark woods, and the mellow pasture, and the brown-fur bossies, broke a little, wee, tiny prick-point of a star, as though some Celestial Being were peeping down whimsically to see just what the Partridge Hunter and I thought of it all.
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