“This is all rot!” he declared angrily. Behind the Avenue was a little hill, and an iron-fenced path went over the crest of this to a stile under an elm-tree, and forked there, with one branch going back into the Avenue again. He never retires to rest till daybreak—if at all. “You were really at Moulton House,” she exclaimed penitently. “You are so sweet, Lucy.
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