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S she drove on through Blackmoor Vale, and the landscape of her youth began to open around her, Tess aroused herself from her stupor. Her first thought was how would she be able to face her parents?

She reached the turnpike-gate which stood near the entrance to the village. It was thrown open by a stranger, not by the old man who had kept it for many years, and to whom she had been known; he had probably left on New Year’s Day, the date when such changes were made. Having received no intelligence lately from her home, she asked the turnpike-keeper for news.

‘Oh—nothing, miss,’ he answered. ‘Marlott is Marlott still. Folks have died and that. John Durbeyfield, too, hev had a daughter married this