Before the Monroes I was placed with a single woman, Leslie Cavendish. ” She relented. 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. “P. ‘You are jealous!’ ‘Yes,’ he agreed simply. Leaning upon a gate he looked down into the valley. We can be friends again. Then she sat down—uninvited— and looked from one to the other curiously.
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