" "There's some one in the garden at this moment," cried Jack; "I saw a face at the window. ‘But for how long?’ Lady Bicknacre asked apprehensively. “I meant to say good-bye to you to-night. “Women are mocked,” she said. 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.
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