One might have said that these trees grieved for their native soil; and, grieving, refused to bear. She set her fingers in the hair and tugged, drawing him to a sitting posture and stooping so that her eyes would be on the level with his when he awoke. Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. “But why now? Don’t boys know that I am involved with John right now?” “That’s not the way it works, Lucy.
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