Did the other girls thank you?” “Not really. Let me go my own way towards them. 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. "Your father—poor imbecile!—believes we ran away together. And mind he doesn't stir out of your sight, on any pretence whatever, till I call. She would be haunted by the visions of their mad faces in her dreams for the next hundred years.
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