” “Some little tiff?” “No; but I don’t think I shall see them. From the further end of the apartment came the low music of a violin. ” “Sir John is an ass!” he declared. 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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