作者：Charles Kingsley 字数：9万字

Though there is nothing left for you to pick and all the flowers are dead and brown except here and there a poor half-withered scrap of bottle-heath and nothing left for you to catch either for the butterflies and insects are all dead too except one poor old Daddy-long-legs who sits upon that piece of turf boring a hole with her tail to lay her eggs in before the frost catches her and ends her like the rest...'

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