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THE LAST OF THE SEASON
309
rounds is the best, that of the spring morning, the
autumn morning, or the one in the balmy evening of
June. And the golfer, bold and lucky, who once in
a way makes his ripest play on some wild day in
December when the wind from the sea comes like a
blast across the links and all above is dripping scud,
would in his pride not grant that the golfer lived
his life at the full on any of those other days of
peace and calm. So, from the play in the long
summer twilight, we wander down the year, through
brown October to the greys that follow, and the
white curtain falls at last upon the exhausted
season.

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