He knew that tragedy was as blind as justice, that it struck the child and the grown-up impartially. Just now the waterchestnuts…. 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. . . She had behaved in every way perfectly. “Perhaps one talks nonsense about a woman’s instinct,” she said.
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