All the sombre visions she had been pressing back, fighting out of her thoughts, swarmed over the barrier and crushed her. Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon. She was weeping now. You don’t understand, Lucy, they just aren’t like that.
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