Drink for him had a queer phase. You know nothing of life, nothing of its dangers, nothing of its possibilities. He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. He blushed, too, spiritually, as it were. 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. His shoulders relaxed and his gaze wavered. Heliers. Altogether, it was a hideous and revolting sight.
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