Her mouth lolled open and drool seeped down one corner. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. The situation bothered him considerably. I took him out of the hands of death. "Why does she weep?" Ruth wanted to know.
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