Charcoal. 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. Sheppard. Her bonnet dropped off and was trampled into the gutter. ” “You all seem to be trying to pull my leg,” Sir John remarked quietly. ” He said as they parted company.
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