I am sorry, but you have spoilt me. It’s one of our conventional superstitions. . The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind. For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another.
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