. ” “Clear out?” cried Hetty. "It's all over," groaned Wood, "and perhaps it's as well her senses are gone. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. The money will last longer, and—it won’t bother you. ‘Don’t fob me off, boy.
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