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. " "Zounds! David Pugh, don't you know your old friend and countryman?" exclaimed the carpenter. “That is very nice of you,” she said. This isn't your island, child; it's the great world. I might have told you the truth. Winifred's face had a thoroughly amiable look. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. .
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