She never knew what became of her farmer after that. The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned. 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. Prudence was the substance and Angelina the shadow; for Angelina never offered opinions, she only agreed with those advanced by Prudence. “You are a thousand times more beautiful,” he said, “than anything else could be. Glancing around his prison, he began to think it possible he might effect an escape from it. "We shall have the whole village upon us while you're striking the jigger.
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