The Iron Bar. His eyes were bright, and his voice had in it an unaccustomed timbre. Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon. The period of repression was over. "He will kill me," cried Thames. But his treasured dream lay shattered at his feet.
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