They began the evening like usual, driving down highways and byways. For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another. He pulled on his pants, his yellow shirt with the ridiculous horse logo, his brown socks, and shoes. But not once in these ten years had they borne blossom or fruit. His noble Florentine roots went back a thousand years, to the days of grand Rome herself.
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