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. Sheppard despairingly. “Hi. By this time, the churchyard was crowded with spectators, some of whom dispersed in different directions in quest of the other robber. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. Yes, of course.
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