Courtlaw might have been able to give me an idea where to stop. He could not tell whether she was English or American. 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. They were a dull grey, but the dark frizzed hair that framed her face was attractive. "Farewell!" cried Jack, embracing them.
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