It was intolerable; he hated his father, he hated George. There
was no justice in the world, and he had not wit to play rogue with
such a one as his cousin. Appearances were always against him; he
hated everybody.
And then he began to think that there was in the very next parish
somebody whom he did not hate, but who, on the contrary, interested
him, and was always ready to listen to his troubles, and he also
became aware of the fact that whilst his mind had been thinking his
legs had been walking, and that he was very near the abode of that
person--almost at its gates, in short. He paused and looked at his
watch; it had stopped at half-past eleven, the one blow that George
had succeeded in planting upon him having landed on it, to the great
detriment of both the watch and the striker's knuckles; but the sun
told him that it was about half-past twelve, not too early to call. So
he opened the gate, and, advancing up an avenue of old beeches to a
square, red-brick house of the time of Queen Anne, boldly rang the
bell.
Was Miss Lee at home? Yes, Miss Lee was in the greenhouse; perhaps Mr.
Philip would step into the garden, which Mr.
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