” 152 < 19 > THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the school. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. She remembered that she had not gone to bed until two o'clock in the morning. It was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing predestined about it. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. “Hainault was Celeste’s friend, and Celeste was Annabel’s enemy,” Courtlaw said. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy.
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