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. “I’m five years older than you, and no end wiser, being a man. Morgan the trader did not haggle over the pearls, but gave me at once what he judged a fair price. "I am glad you think that," she replied. It was the beginning and the end of the transaction. His salvation—if there was to be any—lay in her ignorance of life.
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