The houses overhung in a frightful manner, and looked as if the next gust would precipitate them into the river. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. What had she so nearly said? She had almost spoken a name—and quickly withdrawn it. “Limp,” he answered. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house.
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