In places such as Stornham, through generation after generation, the thing she had just said was accepted as law, clung to as a possession, any divergence from it being a grievance sullenly and bitterly grumbled over.

And in places enough there was divergence in these days--the gentry sending to London for things, and having up workmen to do their best-paying jobs for them.
The law had been so long a law that no village could see justice in outsiders being sent for, even to do work they could not do well themselves.

It showed what she was, this handsome young woman--even though she did come from America--that she should know what was right.
She took a note-book out and opened it on the rough table before her.
"I have made some notes here," she said, "and a sketch or two.

We must talk them over together." If she had given Joe Buttle cause for surprise at the outset, she gave him further cause during the next half-hour.

The work that was to be done was such as made him open his eyes, and draw in his breath.