It’s not you—not a bit. The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park. You have been to see your sister, of course. A thin line of red appeared in the white neck. She could not speak. “What is going on between you two?” Lucy asked. She felt a little ashamed of herself, a bit of a hypocrite. ‘The gatehouse? But why must you move him at all?’ ‘Listen, missie. Close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance. Listen, Jack.
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