He said nothing. He slapped his knee. Wood was once a favourite of yours. Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages. John’s father piped up, bored with the conversation, and asked, “Where do you get your blue eyes, Lucy? What nationality are you?” “I’m mostly Italian, but I get my blue eyes from my mother, who was Gypsy. “Forgive you, indeed. Once she heard him mutter, and she leaned down. " "You don't remember your mother?" "Oh, no; she died when I was very little. Her eyes were lit with a gleam of humour. ” Lucy gestured to the Treehouse, which had been roofed and framed.
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