Nervously he pulled alongside the dilapidated oncewhite farmhouse. “Sold again,” she remarked. “I’d have to sneak out after everyone was asleep. And Rollo, who had been waiting for some encouraging sound, presented himself at the doorway. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard.
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