"Come along, my sly shaver. “Do not look so uncomfortable, both of you,” she begged. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. Everything. She fixed her eyes upon it and ran, keeping always as far as possible in the shadow of the hedge, gazing fearfully every now and then down along the valley for the white smoke of the train. How she had coveted her mother’s beauty and sought to emulate it, if only to please her. "Perhaps that would have been best. Men were going hither and thither with barrows, and ladders and ropes, removing the rubbish, and trying to support the tottering habitations.
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