I turned around and saw him sweep his wide-brimmed straw hat off his dark hair and give me a mock bow from atop the wagon seat. He jumped down from the wagon and walked over to me.
I looked up at him. Way, way up. Dickon Weeks, although only a couple of years older than me, was so tall that it hurt my neck to look so far up. Had he grown even taller since I saw him last? Under his well-patched smock, his cotton trousers barely reached his ankles, which certainly hinted that he had. He is starting to appear as “tall and gangly” as Lafayette, I thought. Although he certainly lacks the Frenchman’s reputed charm.
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