The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. I saw the motor dashed to pieces against the wall, and I saw him pitched on his head into the road. For the past four weeks mirrors had been her delight, a new toy. By a miracle, he averted its path, his hold on the girl’s mouth shifting fast to grasp her wrist. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.
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