Read it through once

Every day, a little before twelve, Mr. Leopold went out for his morning walk; every day if it were fine you would meet him at that hour in the lane either coming from or going to Shoreham. For thirty years he had done his little constitutional, always taking the same road, always starting within a few minutes of twelve, always returning in time to lay the cloth for lunch at half-past one. The hour between twelve and one he spent in the little cottage which he rented from the squire for his wife and children, or in the "Red Lion," where he had a glass of beer and talked with Watkins, the bookmaker.