She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. C. She imagined descending the stairs, hearing Mike’s uproarious laughter as she peeked around a vacant corner with a lump in her throat. But she veiled her feelings. “Poor old daddy! I wonder if he’ll spend much on the fatted calf?. ‘Certainly I have them with me. What’s the name of the happy man?” Gwen owned to “Fortescue.
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