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. Not up here, I think. He was a tall man and fair, with bluish eyes that were rather protuberant, and long white hands of which he made a display. "My wife and daughter, Sir," said the carpenter, introducing them to his guest.
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