It was grey windless weather, and the bell of the little old church that nestled in the hollow of the Sussex down sounded near and domestic. We were a straggling procession in the mild damp air - whic...
Sylvia Plath and I met a long time ago. A really long time ago. Was it a summer day? No! It was a wintry November morning!
(n.) The eleventh month of the year, containing thirty days.
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