Jackson and Mr. ” 152 < 19 > THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the school. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. It felt too good. ” Lucy’s eyebrows knitted, trying to remember an unfortunate chinless girl running around the school. The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. The devil is on top, not below. He had saluted her with elaborate civility, his eyes distended with indecipherable meanings. If we were set upon I could not defend you. ’ She drew a heavy breath.
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