She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. “DEAR MR. ‘Don’t fob me off, boy. I'll watch over these infants, if that's your worry. After the first onset several of the women who had apartments to let said she would not do for them, and in effect dismissed her. I'll teach you submission in time.
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