When she occupied, it, it was neatness itself; the little porch was overrun with creepers—the garden trim and exquisitely kept. They were sitting alone, Lucy. He took about five minutes. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. “His dress for no man lays a snare; A man scores always, everywhere. We were expecting rather to find a male antagonist.
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