Walking this time of year always reminds me of the great classic short story written by O'Henry, "The Last Leaf" Each day there are fewer and fewer leaves on the trees and the ones that are left appear to be suspended in air, as if painted in the sky.
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| Didn't you wonder why it never fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it's Behrman's masterpiece - he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell." |
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