She thought me— filthy. Go to your sister, and do not quit her till all is over. In one grave, mind. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon. "But, pardon my intrusion.
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