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 carpenter did not hesitate a moment. I can bear anything but suspense. "What is it?" "The night," she answered. " "Six weeks have elapsed since that fatal night," replied Jack. ‘Don’t rightly know how you make that out, you being a French spy and a prisoner and all. If so I shall have to leave. “Indeed I shall not forget your offer.
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