If you don't mind stacking up a bit, three can ride in it very comfortably." That was the way it happened that Linda walked home after school that afternoon between Peter Morrison and his architect, brought out the Bear Cat, and drove them to Peter's location.
All that day, workmen had been busy under the management of a well-instructed foreman, removing trees and bushes and stones and clearing the spot that had been selected for the garage and approximately for the house.
The soft brownish gray of Linda's dress was exactly the color to intensify the darker brown of her eyes.

There was a fluctuating red in her olive cheeks, a brilliant red framing her even white teeth.

Once dressed so that she was satisfied with the results, Linda immediately forgot her clothes, and plunged into Morrison's plans.
"Peter," she said gravely, with Peter perfectly cognizant of the twinkle in her dark eyes, "Peter, you may save money in a straight-line road, but you're going to sin against your soul if you build it.

You'll have to economize in some other way, and run your road around the base of those boulders, then come in straight to the line here, and then you should swing again and run out on this point, where guests can have one bewildering glimpse of the length of our blue valley, and then whip them around this clump of perfumy lilac and elders, run them to your side entrance, and then scoot the car back to the garage.

I think you should place the front of your house about here." Linda indicated where.