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She was grey, and her apron, and her dress, and her kerchief, and her hands and her face were all sun-bleached and sun-stained, greyey, bluey, browny, like stones and half-coloured leaves, sunny in their colourlessness. In my black coat, I felt myself wrong, false, an outsider. She was spinning, spontaneously, like a little wind.
'Hers juth like a mouse, said Ger, 'all tho thoft and juth the right colour greyey, you know! His mother laughed. 'You funny boy, she said. 'When are you going to leave off lisping altogether? You can say S's quite well if you like. Did she mind your calling her "Miss Mouse"? she went on, turning to the elder boys. 'No, not a bit, said Archie. 'I think she liked it.
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