“But of course it’s aunt’s doing really. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. \" Mark was tall and skinny, a mop of brown hair over a pillar of freckles. It may not be just, it may not be fair, but things are so. ‘Who is to be angry with you now?’ ‘Miss Prudence, that’s who,’ stated Joan bluntly.
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