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. When the twins had first come to live in the 208 house, they were thin and bony, their tiny mouths crying for food. By his side sat a remarkably stout dame, to whom he paid as much attention as it was in his iron nature to pay. ‘He can’t be Valade, that’s certain,’ mused Gerald, unheeding.
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