” “It was Cheveney!” he said slowly. She did not remember him, but he said that he had introduced himself to her when she was visiting the butcher's family. When she came to, she was lying with her head in Martha’s lap, and a livid bruise was forming at the point of a raging headache. 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. ‘Now I see why you’re marrying this woman, Hilary. .
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