The street was deserted, no pedestrian school-goers walked immediately in front or behind them. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. “Good, I’m so glad, Lucy. “What a beautiful mare’s nest!” she exclaimed. Instinctively she had fallen into the posture of the poster, her hands behind her, her head bent slightly forward, her chin uplifted, her eyes bright with the drollery of the song. I am bored to distraction.
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