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. "Troth, and so did you," returned the watchman; "but I couldn't belave it. In another instant, the collision took place. "A hundred pounds!" exclaimed Shotbolt. In the evening, a band of village musicians, accompanied by most of the young inhabitants of Willesden, strolled out to Dollis Hill, where they formed a rustic concert under the great elm before the door. Suddenly she thrust her head out of the window.
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