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. It was an uproarious affair, for Rollo now knew that he had been grieviously betrayed: they were trying to kill him in a new way. 'He's a good fellow, and 'twill all end well'. She felt this was the sensible way out of this oddly sinister situation. October arrived; and in another week the court would be sitting at the Old Bailey. .
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