She was always initiating petty breaches of discipline. A tourist caravan of four pole-chairs jogged along a narrow street. “Mom, this is the girl I asked to Prom, Lucy. McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. She had to wear cream and a brown sash and a short frock and her hair down, and Gwen cream and a brown sash and a long skirt and her hair up. Occasionally he relit his pipe.
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