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It was one of those perfect English autumnal days which occur more frequently in memory than in life. |
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No winter lasts forever; no spring skips it's turn. |
Now is the winter of our discontent |
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Summer is the time when one sheds one's tensions with one's clothes, and the right kind of day is jeweled balm for the battered spirit. A few of those days and you can become drunk with the belief that all's right with the world. |
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