Twenty guineas, mind. “I can’t endure it,” she said. 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. Not afraid of me, either. Speedily recovering himself, however, he rejoined, with forced calmness, "You are mistaken, Sir.
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