You should have confided in me, and fallen in with my plan at the beginning. Why do you not go away?’ ‘Yes, do go away,’ begged Gerald. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds.
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