Wait, though. Like a petulant child he snapped. “Rummy lot we are!” said Roddy. He was absolutely unable to focus his ideas. His mouth was sensuous but his eyes became frenetic. Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon. But that instinct is severely dampened most of the time.
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