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. Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas. Only you won’t let me exist!” Mr. " "Ah," said Spurlock; "that kind of a man. The latter formed by far the most knavish-looking and unprepossessing portion of the assemblage.
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