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” “It is an accident,” he answered. The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. “As it is doubtful whether the man will live, we should be glad if you would identify him. But that was all over. Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon. She made me over.
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