Dennis came down from the roof, grinned at Quoyle. There was nothing in him of Jack Buggit except eyes darting to the horizon, measuring cuts of sky.
“Great bread,” said Quoyle, folding a slice into his mouth.
“Yeah, well, Beety makes bread every day, every day but Sunday. So.”
-The Shipping News by E. Annie Proulx
What is the 'cuts of sky'? Is it like some portion of sky?