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Jack did not advance to meet her. But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow. 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. CHAPTER XIV.
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