She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. It is so ridiculous. She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. It was in no sense confessional; it was a state of mind in the patient the doctor had already anticipated. Maggot. "Will he post the cole? Will he come down with the dues? Ask him that?" cried Blueskin.
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