" "So do I!" she cried; "for then you would have been really my brother. To tell someone who is kind and who will understand!" "There, there!" he said. 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. A cool gray light illuminated small portions of the stone floor. ‘To read and write, of course, and to sew.
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