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. “But where are you going? Lucy, you’re safe here. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. But I expect him back every minute. " Taking the keys, he led the way, followed by Jonathan, who chuckled internally at the shock that awaited the poor fellow. ” He uttered thoughtfully.
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