The windows were small, and strongly grated, looking, in front, on Kendrick Yard, and, at the back, upon the spacious burial-ground of Saint Giles's Church. “No doubt about that, I fancy,” Meddoes answered lightly. Her answer was not quite ready. He smiled tenderly. All of a sudden, there was movement behind him. The militiaman at once thrust the old man between the shoulder blades, pushing him into the kitchen.
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