The Summer was over at last, and nobody could deny that Autumn was definitely there. It was that rather sad time of year when for the first time for many months the fine old sun still blazes away in a cloudless sky, but does not warm you, and the hoar-frosts and the mists and winds begin to stir their faint limbs at morning and evening, with the gossamer, as the sap of winter vigor remembers itself in the cold corpses which brave summer slew. The leaves were still in the trees, and still green, but it was the leaden green of old leaves which have seen much since the gay colors and happiness of spring – that seems so lately and, like all happy things, so quickly to have passed.
T.H. White, "Sword and the Stone"
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