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. The way—the way we are led on! We are taught to believe we are free in the world, to think we are queens. Perhaps the Parisian atmosphere had affected him.
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