Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. 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. ‘I escape from a fate entirely misérable, you understand. ‘But you do not understand, mon ami. John did not see her until the last period.
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