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. He took up his hat and went. He embraced her small body in his arms, kissing her forehead over and over. The old aspect of the place was gone. Gosse had hidden himself successfully then. She could not speak. Recovery impossible. "Tell Mr. The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind. “I do,” he answered.
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