"..that Country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger and midnights stay. That country composed of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on empty walks sound like rain..." RB
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