They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. It could not go on much longer, her luck. 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. The delay was only momentary. Valade accorded the major’s greeting a brief nod and gave his attention back to St Erme. . "But you've done well to trust me.
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