He occupied one of the smaller houses near the station. What had Brewis Charvill to say to that, Gerald?’ ‘He had nothing to say to it. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. I love everything to-day, and all of you, but I love this, this—this innocence upon us most of all. ‘Yes, do,’ approved Lucilla. Too intent on her search, and convinced besides that she was quite alone, she had been an easy prey.
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