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Someone had asked Mary Viner as a child why she so disliked going to school, and had received the pregnant reply: "'Cos one does the same thing every day"; and at the age of three-and-twenty Mary was still resenting repetition. - Doomsday (pt. 1, ch. 1) [Books (First Lines)] She had been christened Barbara Irene. But, since the family name was Brown, she had taken to herself in the nursery the more intimate and characteristic name of Bib, and as Bib she had continued to be known until the irreverent affection of a rough and tumble girls' school had named her Billy. - Exile (ch. 1) [Books (First Lines)] Mr. Conrad Pybus collected pictures, and being the possessor of two "Constables," and three "Cotmans," he had some right to stretch out a large hand and to indicate the picture that was hung against the blue horizon. - Old Pybus [Books (First Lines)] The street was as black as a tunnel. - Old Wine and New (pt. 1, ch. 1) [Books (First Lines)] The girl was tempted by the open door. It was unusual for Hazzard to leave his door open. His habit was to shut it quietly and carefully, for like many other door in Roper's Row it had seen better days, and was suffering from decrepitude, strained hinges and a stammering lock. Hazzard knew the habits of that door. Unless you were firm with it and made sure that the catch had caught, the door would swing slowly back into the room, uttering a little creaking moan. It was a faithless, treasonable door. It was ready to betray you and your secrets, and Hazzard had many reasons for wishing to keep the door closed. - Roper's Row (ch. 1) [Books (First Lines)] Sorrell was trying to fasten the straps of the little brown portmanteau, but since the portmanteau was old and also very full, he had to deal with it tenderly. - Sorrell and Son [Books (First Lines)] Visitors from the Hotel Leopardi who climbed the mule path that went winding up the hillside through a forest of stone pines, would pass Martin Frensham's white villa half hidden among olive, orange, and mimosa trees. The villa stood in a miniature valley of its own, through which a torrent trickled untorrentially, save when heavy rains sent it foaming over the smooth white bowlders. - The Bridge of Desire (ch. 1) [Books (First Lines)]
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