“Good-bye,” he said earnestly. He, next, seized the unlucky jailer, and forced him along, while Blueskin expedited his movements by administering a few kicks behind. A maidservant held the front door open. Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon.
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