" "What is it?" "That you give 'em to me. At any rate, I can see that you’re not protecting him at all. He got up. Here was not the individual against whom she had been warned. 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. She was fatigued physically and mentally, and neither mind nor body could rest. It was clear it must be to-morrow. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. Not with the unavoidable explanations, and the need to secrete the sword and hide it before returning the priest’s horse to its stable—which had been her excuse for running from Martha’s protestations.
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