He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. 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. . But she disapproved more and more of her own mental austerity. "Once there," proceeded Wild, without noticing the interruption, "he's as good as in his grave. Sheppard!" echoed Jack, surprised out of his caution.
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