The warm month of June melted into the scalding month of July.
On June 9, Monica Cutler, asleep in the arms of her beloved Harry Turnball, failed to wake from her snug and happy dreams.
But never, never, never in his entire life had David Dean felt less like crawling out of his sleeping bag and mounting his bicycle than on the misty Colorado morning of June fifteenth.
The paper was dated Sunday, June 6.
The cold wet days of May had thawed into the warmth of June, yet their marriage remained cold and lifeless.
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