" "Try the cellar, Captain," said Blueskin, stamping upon a large board in the ground. She may address me as “Grandfather” if she chooses, since I’m obliged to accept her in that capacity. 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. I’d rather die than hear any more fairytales.
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