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but with the four dead eyes glaring at him he looked round and realised the strange dead day.

The morning was wintry and dim, but darkened with that shadow of cloud or snow which steeps everything in a green or copper twilighpingan邮箱t. The light there is on such a day seems not so much to come from the clear heaven, not misty, When the chord ofpingan邮箱 monotony is stretched most tight, then it breaks with a sound like song. He had scarcely noticed the weather befpingan邮箱ore,