The soft brownish gray of Linda's dress was exactly the color to
intensify the darker brown of her eyes. There was a fluctuating
red in her olive cheeks, a brilliant red framing her even white
teeth. Once dressed so that she was satisfied with the results,
Linda immediately forgot her clothes, and plunged into Morrison's
plans.
"Peter," she said gravely, with Peter perfectly cognizant of the
twinkle in her dark eyes, "Peter, you may save money in a
straight-line road, but you're going to sin against your soul if
you build it. You'll have to economize in some other way, and
run your road around the base of those boulders, then come in
straight to the line here, and then you should swing again and
run out on this point, where guests can have one bewildering
glimpse of the length of our blue valley, and then whip them
around this clump of perfumy lilac and elders, run them to your
side entrance, and then scoot the car back to the garage. I
think you should place the front of your house about here."
Linda indicated where. "So long as you're buying a place like
this you don't want to miss one single thing; and you do want to
make the very most possible out of every beauty you have. And
you mustn't fail to open up and widen the runway from that
energetic, enthusiastic spring. Carry it across your road, sure.
It will cost you another little something for a safe bridge, but
there's nothing so artistic as a bridge with a cold stream
running under it.
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