” “And I also,” Brendon echoed. ” She eyed him scornfully. O God! O God!" And he appeared convulsed with agony. It is your own choice, isn’t it?” She nodded. 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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