"Bah!" cried Jack, contemptuously; "nobody's disgraced and ruined unless he's found out. 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. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. I asked him—to take me away.
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