“We pretend bodies are ugly. I don’t mind telling you chaps that except on the stage I haven’t set eyes on her this side of the water. But perhaps I had better get a room in an hotel to-night and look round. ’ That arrested her. 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. The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man.
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