Never in the memory of a living New Englander had there been such an Indian summer. Day after day, week after week, a warm haze hung over the states of the northeastern U.S. Maple and sumac painted the hills and shed bright, crackling drifts of leaves. Offshore, the sea was blue. Streams ran gently or dried up, and at dusk the smell of dust and wood smoke perfumed the air. No rainclouds obscured the sun or the bright autumn moon. Then, last week, nature exacted her tribute.
As winds sprang up along the...
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