Our charming man came home, legging it over the Hog's Back from Guildford station until he came to the crossroads north of Polstead Manor. It was a cold winter day, and a fraction of snow still reclined in the folds of the track. Would he go west, past the old farm on Down Lane and under the bridge with the cross fixed on its apex? Or south, to Polstead, the Withies pub, and the small white house where I waited nervously?
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