The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. ’ Lucilla eyed him with one of those particularly feminine looks it was difficult for a mere male to interpret. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack.
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