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. His noble Florentine roots went back a thousand years, to the days of grand Rome herself. Apparently he did not see his recent companions. "When in France, I heard from the Marshal that his brother had perished in London on the night of the Great Storm.
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