I hate this war," said Rilla bitterly, as she gazed out into the maple grove that was a chill glory of pink and gold in the winter sunset. "Nineteen-fourteen has gone," said Dr. Blythe on New Year's Day. "Its sun, which rose fairly, has set in blood. What will nineteen-fifteen bring?" "Victory!" said Susan, for once laconic.
( L.M. Montgomery )
[ Anne Shirley Complete 8-Book ]
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