Her depression since the “accident” had possessed her, she no longer cared how she looked as her beauty helped her not. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. ” She stepped into the curtains as Martin stared daggers. One more passer-by; and always would she remember his patience and tenderness and disinterestedness.
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