“Number 13, please, cabman. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. The new-comer looked at Charcam. Spurling in alarm. "I'll gibbet the rascal. “Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse.
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