They let themselves out at a
side door, and a gust of wet wind howled down upon them, and shook a
shower from the madly rippling ivy leaves. The sky was high and pale,
and crossed by hurrying and scattered clouds; a clean, roaring gale tore
over the hills, and ruffled the rain pools in the road, and bowed the
trees like whips. The bay was iron colour; choppy waves chased each
other against the piers. Now and then a pale flicker of sunlight
brightened the whole scene with blues and greens and shadows
spectacularly clear; then the clouds met again, and the wind sang like a
snapped wire.
Julia and the doctor climbed the long flights of stairs that cut
straight up through the scattered homes on the hill. These earthen steps
were still running with the late rain, and moss lay on them like a green
film. Julia breathed hard, a veil of blown hair crossed her bright eyes,
her stinging cheeks glowed.
"I love this kind of a day!" she shouted. Jim's gloved hand helped her
to cross a wide pool, and his handsome eyes were full of all delight as
he shouted back.
Presently, when they were in a more quiet bit of road, he told her of
some of his early boyish walks.
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