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But, the house was already splashed with their shadows. Obeying the urge to create a work of art that visited them perhaps only once in a century, Ainson’s friends had broken the white of his walls with a scatterbrained scattering of silhouetted wings and bodies, urging upwards. The lively movement of this pattern seemed to make the loweaved house rise against gravity; but that was appearance only, for this spring found the neoplastic rooftree sagging and the supporting walls considerably bucked at the knees.