“Annabel!” He looked at her thoughtfully. 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. There was granite in her face and agate in her eyes. ‘Still more would I be so if he had come himself to tell me this. Spurlock sat limply, his arms hanging.
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