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The person had a strange feeling of unreality and change, which scared them. They were at Peddler's Hollow, a dark and bushy place known for being haunted. They wondered if it was really haunted. What had happened? He had a queer sensation of unreality, of change, something that took his breath away, made him sordid, frightened him a little. He came up over the edge of the hollow and stood there gazing, swallowing, trying to get a grip on himself. This was Peddler's Hollow, from which he had just emerged. It was a narrow dip in the mountain road, perpetually dark, bushed heavily, an egg-estate with laurel and overhung with trees. It was here that the Peddler had been murdered twenty or thirty years ago, and ever since then the place had had the reputation of being haunted. Was it haunted?