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. “By Jove!” he broke out, “one tries to take a serious, sober view. From the first I could see that neither believed my story. Still he had a decent look, and decidedly the air of one well-to-do in the world. CHAPTER XXXII.
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