” 152 < 19 > THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the school. Well might she do so, Gerald thought in irritation. “It is rather odd,” he said, “but I always thought that your name was Annabel and hers Anna. No! That was impossible. I'll put a brace of dogs on your track, who'll soon hunt you down. She went out into the hall, where she met the Jedsons in their kimonos. Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father brought some papers to table and presented himself as preoccupied with them.
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