I hated the stuff. The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. When she spoke, her lips twitched. After a certain amount of manœuvring, however, he was induced to crawl around, and in a few minutes came to stop again before a tall brightly-painted house, which seemed like an oasis of colour and assertive prosperity in a long dingy row.
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