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 man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. Rot, no doubt; but we can’t alter it. ” “I suppose not. The advanced guard had endeavoured to disperse the mob in Field Lane, but were not prepared to meet with the resistance they encountered.
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