Honeychurch, suddenly alert. "I don't
see any difference. Fences are fences, especially when they are
in the same place."
"We were speaking of motives," said Cecil, on whom the
interruption jarred.
"My dear Cecil, look here." She spread out her knees and perched
her card-case on her lap. "This is me. That's Windy Corner. The
rest of the pattern is the other people. Motives are all very
well, but the fence comes here."
"We weren't talking of real fences," said Lucy, laughing.
"Oh, I see, dear--poetry."
She leant placidly back. Cecil wondered why Lucy had been amused.
"I tell you who has no 'fences,' as you call them," she said,
"and that's Mr. Beebe."
"A parson fenceless would mean a parson defenceless."
Lucy was slow to follow what people said, but quick enough to
detect what they meant. She missed Cecil's epigram, but grasped
the feeling that prompted it.
"Don't you like Mr. Beebe?" she asked thoughtfully.
"I never said so!" he cried. "I consider him far above the
average.
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