Waiting for the Verdict

November day, twenty years ago. A chilly, pale, weak-breathed, deadening day everywhere; up where the sun glimmered feebly along through a cold, watery sky: yonder, Where the sea yawned to the horizon like lead: up the bay where the water moodily lapped the beach, while pink gentians and saffron weeds mil dewed and rotted in the salt hay of the marshes.

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