HOUSES
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vening and quiet:a bird trills in the poplar treesbehind the house with the dark green dooracross the road. Into the sky,the red earthenware and the galvanised iron chimneysthrust their cowls.The hoot of the steamers on the Thames is plain. No wind;the trees merge, green with green;a car whirs by;footsteps and voices take their pitchin the key of dusk,far-off and near, subdued.
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