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. Anna sighed as she reflected that her sister had simply revelled in her indiscretions. "That man should have been an Italian bravo," murmured the knight, sinking into a chair: "he has neither fear nor compunction. ” “The truth,” she murmured, with her eyes fixed upon him. .
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