"This gentleman wants a pair of oars," said the landlord. There was no mistaking his intentions this time. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. Cathy opened her beauty shop, you know. I shan't let you off a farthing.
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