” Lucy gestured to the Treehouse, which had been roofed and framed. For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. She was weeping now. “He looks as though he did, at any rate. You don’t know the thoughts we have; the things we can do and say. He rather liked the "sir"; it signified both gratefulness and the chastened spirit.
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