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. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination. , and munched a roll and butter with hearty appetite. In the genuinely dissipated face there was always a suggestion of slyness in ambush, peeping out of the wrinkles around the eyes and the lips. Sebastian crouched on the floor with a single dead victim, a young highwayman. I die happy—quite happy in beholding you.
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