The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. . She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. ‘But I have been perfectly honest about that. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne.
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