We leave England to-night. One cannot expect that soldiers can be sympathique to one they believe may be a French spy. She began to feel odd sensations while peering busily at his shoulder and profile. She saw now that it was not a dissipated face; it was as smooth and unlined as polished marble, which at present it resembled. It probably still wouldn’t help. 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.
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