” 152 < 19 > THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the school. It was Ennison, who loomed up through the shadows. "Ah!" she screamed, seeing the uplifted weapon in Sheppard's hand, "don't hurt Thames—don't, dear Jack! If you want to kill somebody, kill me, not him. I do not even know his name. Goopes, she was sure was always high-browed and slow and Socratic. " "Do not delay," cried Thames. "Fear nothing, Sir," said the man, in a voice which Thames instantly recognised as that of Blueskin. ‘I don’t want to hurt you any more.
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