Above the housetops it was different. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. A few seconds sufficed to clear the passage, through which it had previously cost him more than two hours to force his way. "What can it matter to you whether he returns or not, child," rejoined Mrs. ‘But only think, Hilary,’ Lucy protested, evidently too involved in her theory to waste time in scolding. This time she tried to kill me with a dagger.
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