"I knew that would bring him to," thought Wild. 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. It rained heavily all day, so he did not stir forth. It isn't for their sakes, it's for your own. We have to hang about in the interval. Water I need.
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