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Daisycrumpleduptheabsurdnote,andsaid
“Rubbish,”soloudthatGeorgiePillsoninthenext
gardenthoughthewasbeingaddressed.
“What’sthat?”hesaid.
“Georgie,cometothefenceaminute,”saidMrs.
Quantock.“Iwanttospeaktoyou.”
Georgie,longingforalittlegossip,letgoofthe
handleofhisroller,which,suddenlyreleased,gave
aloudsqueakandrappedhimsmartlyontheelbow.
“Tarsomething!”saidGeorgie.
Hewenttothefenceand,beingtall,couldlookover
it.TherewasMrs.QuantockangrilypokingLucia’s
noteintotheflower-bedshehadbeenweeding.
“Whatisit?”saidGeorgie.“ShallIlikeit?”
Hisfaceredandmoistwithexertion,appearingjust
overthetopofthefence,lookedlikethesunabout
tosetbelowtheflatgreyhorizonofthesea.
“Idon’tknowifyou’lllikeit,”saidDaisy,“butit’s
yourLucia.Isentheralittlenoteofcondolenceabout
theaunt,andshesaysithasbeenaterribleblow
toPepinoandherself.Theyhopedthattheoldlady
mighthavebeensparedthemafewyearsyet.”
“No!”saidGeorgie,wipingthemoistureoffhis
foreheadwiththebackofoneofhisbeautifulpearl-
greygloves.
“Butshedid,”saidtheinfuriatedDaisy,“theywere
herverywords.IcouldshowyouifIhadn’tdugitin.
Suchapackofnonsense!IhopethatlongbeforeI’ve
beenbedriddenforsevenyears,somebodywill
stranglemewithabootlace,oranythinghandy.Why
doesLuciapretendtobesorry?Whatdoesitall
mean?”
GeorgiehadlongbeendevotedhenchmantoLucia
(Mrs.Lucas,wifeofPhilipLucas,andsoLucia),and
thoughhecouldcriticiseherinhismind,whenhewas
aloneinhisbedorhisbath,healwayschampionedher
inthefaceofthecriticismofothers.WhereasDaisy
criticisedeverybodyeverywhere...
“Perhapsitmeanswhatitsays,”heobservedwith