Annabel looked up and down the empty street, and then turned to her sister. 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. Though encumbered by his irons, his step was firm, and his demeanour dignified. “I have not quarrelled with her. It was during Martin’s Violin Concerto that she was extraordinary. Besides, there's something odd about the boy; for, though I questioned him pretty closely concerning his business, he declined answering my questions, and said he could only deliver his message to her ladyship. He was so horny that he could probably make love to a tree.
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