‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely. Edgeworth Bess and Poll Maggot are dying to see you. Into one of these he waded and rolled and rolled, despite her commands. Pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees. It is no problem.
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