Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. But she certainly remembered that when she was a little girl he sometimes wore tennis flannels, and also rode a bicycle very dexterously in through the gates to the front door. Probably hadn't. It towered up high above the level of the pass, thousands of feet, still, shining, and white, and below, thousands of feet below, was a floor of little woolly clouds.
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