I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. Then he turned on his heel and walked off. For nearly thirty years he had lived here in contented loneliness; then youth had to come and fill him with discontent. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. But at the same time, I must say plainly that I think your presence here just now would be a great misfortune. They were bathing in the stream.
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