Explore "The Postmaster of Market Deignton" by E. Phillips Oppenheim on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
As afternoon steals on I descend from the hill and enter the wood once more. Through the still air I can hear distinctly the chimes of the stable clock as it strikes three; and its echoes have scarcely died away before the gate at the further end of the wood opens and swings back Soon I see her coming slowly towards me, carrying a mysterious-looking brown parcel in her hands.
"Here still?" she exclaims, with high-arched eyebrows.