Once, underneath the beautiful London sky, there was a little back lane called Quinton Lane. The lane was made of cobblestone, and cherry trees lined the edges. Fog usually hung around. The fog seemed to say, “Ha! I’m not going anywhere. It’s too much fun to make this lane and everyone in it all grumpy!” And it was true. The fog, and the frequent rain, and the dreariness and gloominess of spring just not coming, made the few houses of the lane seem to groan.
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