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Lucy saw it happen as if in slow motion. “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. " "But that's the point—I don't know. The young man had knocked over the siphon. “John, that is what you say now. There’s that old gentleman at the end of the table—Bullding his name is. And then presently these clouds began to wear thin and expose steep, deep slopes, going down and down, with grass and pine-trees, down and down, and at last, through a great rent in the clouds, bare roofs, shining like very minute pin-heads, and a road like a fibre of white silk-Macugnana, in Italy. But this is a great lark, Ann Veronica! This turns life into a glorious adventure!” “Ah!” she cried in triumph.
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