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. “You wouldn’t. Wood gave the required promise, though he could not help thinking that if either of them had cause to be jealous he was the party. As such, you may command the sympathies of the gentry. ‘She wouldn’t tell me.
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