"How sociable the garden was. We ate and talked in given light. The children put their toys to grass All the warm wakeful August night."

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This was one of those perfect New England days in late summer where the spirit of autumn takes a first stealing flight, like a spy, through the ripening country-side, and, with feigned sympathy for those who droop with August heat, puts her cool cloak of bracing air about leaf and flower and human shoulders.

— Sarah Orne Jewett