The coconut plantation covered the west side. Brendon’s had an awful stroke of luck. ’ She halted, her pistol still held firm and straight, both hands gripping it, her expressive features at once determined and uncertain. 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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