“Oh. You are wedged in amongst a crowd, perhaps in the promenade, you lean over the back, you are almost out of sight. Maybe the girl was telling the truth, and then again, maybe she wasn't. He had heard this talk before. 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.
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