"Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest. Soon, they fattened up, their cheeks rosy and their hair shining. “Before I met you I was deluded into receiving upon friendly terms a man named Hill, who passed himself off as Meysey Hill the railway man, but who was in reality an Englishman in poor circumstances. He is in the secret passage. There are boats on the lake and shady depths and wildernesses of pine-wood. That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. Over these boards the two arms of a guide-post serve to direct the wayfarer—on the right hand to the neighbouring villages of Neasdon and Kingsbury, and on the left to the Edgeware Road and the healthy heights of Hampstead. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. “It is very nice of you to come, but I do not think for the present, at any rate, I could give him any other answer. He entered the driver’s side, not inserting the keys in the ignition. “This wonderful affection of yours for my sister, does it date from your first meeting with her in Paris?” He hesitated. "Let me see," replied Wood; "exactly twelve years ago last November.
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