She watched the people and hummed softly to herself. 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. The shouts, yells, and groans which they uttered, and which were echoed by the concourse in the rear, were perfectly frightful. She had just this moment past told him that Monsieur Valade came to her after the tragedy, to the convent, from where he married her and brought her to England.
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