"Marygreen did not change in sixteen years. It had changed
little enough in the past two hundred.
The church of St. Catherine stood at the northern end of the road,
like a benevolent godfather, and from it the houses ran down either
side—half-timbered cottages, with overhanging upper stories, and
thatched with heather or with straw that had been golden when new,
then had turned slowly to a rich brown, and now was emerald green
with moss and lichen. Tiny dormer windows looked out, wreathed with
honeysuckle and ivy. Thick untrimmed hedges fenced the houses off
from the road and there were small wooden gates, some of them spanned
by arches of climbing roses. Above the hedges could be seen the
confusion of blooming flowers, delphinium and lilacs, both purple and
white, hollyhocks that reached almost to the eaves, an apple or plum
or cherry tree in full blossom."
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