If my conjectures are right, this boy would stay there indefinitely. ‘I know,’ said Prudence Sindlesham, sympathy in her tone. By and by he gathered enough courage to lean toward her. 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. Vorsack rose from the table and departed for the bathroom, mumbling something about a Tylenol.
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