She was fiercely and bitterly jealous. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. . For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another. She was always asking questions about her mother and supplying the answers. To Gerald’s eye, the refugees therefore presented a rather forlorn little group, almost huddling together and chattering in low tones in their own tongue. His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. He would be so disappointed.
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