“You knew it,” he added, in her momentary silence. Had he come to see her to find if she needed something? No. Never any doubt of it. From the sounds of it, he was better off dead. She was asked to meet him after his game Saturday afternoon. It's precisely what such a simpleton would do. His large, coarse lips drew wider apart. She never questioned the motives of the characters; she had neither the ability nor the conceit for that; but she could and often did correct his lapses in colour. ToC That night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the Wheat-sheaf, near the green.
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