"It was November - the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds, deep, sad hymns of the sea, passionate wind-songs in the pines. Anne roamed through the pineland alleys in the park, and, as she said, let that great sweeping wind blow the fogs out of her soul."

We start with the slow and close with the more upbeat. Lumineers are stuck at the end because I'm trying to spare you.

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