‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door. 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. Hell, my mom hates everyone, don’t take this personally, but she doesn’t like you very much and she isn’t shy about letting me know. Marthe has told me that the house comes to my mother, Ma—ry Re—men—ham. Then perhaps I shall send for him if he has not forgotten. I can’t afford to get behind. Wood gave the required promise, though he could not help thinking that if either of them had cause to be jealous he was the party. It was time to get up.
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