They were both dressed in every respect alike. Lucy had passed the house once on the sidewalk, on a rare day when he was shoveling snow. His sister followed. " While Mr. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window. His hand flew across the paper. If there were any pearls, none came into the light. And Miss Miniver fell discussing whether Goopes or Bernard Shaw or Tolstoy or Doctor Tumpany or Wilkins the author had the more powerful and perfect mind in existence at the present time. The gardens were tidy and geometric, each avenue with a different purpose: flowers for cutting, herbs, brightly colored vegetables.
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