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Will Warburton by George Gissing
page 48 of 347 (13%)
satisfaction. Though a thoroughly kind man, it always brightened him
to hear of misfortune, especially when he had himself foretold it;
and he had always taken the darkest view of Will's prospects in
Little Ailie Street.

"I have a project I should like to talk over with you--"

"Ah?" said the lawyer anxiously.

"As it concerns my mother and Jane--"

"Ah?" said Mr. Turnbull, with profound despondency.

"Then we shall expect you.--Will it rain, do you think?"

"I fear so. The glass is very low indeed. It wouldn't surprise me if
we had rain through the whole month of August."

"Good Heavens! I hope not," replied Will laughing.

He drove out of the town again, in a different direction, for about
a mile. On rising ground, overlooking the green valley of the Ouse,
stood a small, plain, solidly-built house, sheltered on the cold
side by a row of fine hawthorns, nearly as high as the top of its
chimneys. In front, bordered along the road by hollies as
impenetrable as a stone wall, lay a bright little flower garden. The
Haws, originally built for the bailiff of an estate, long since
broken up, was nearly a century old. Here Will's father was born,
and here, after many wanderings, he had spent the greater part of
his married life.
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