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. Leaving the library by the same door she had first used to enter it earlier that day, she crossed the two little antechambers and moved on through the rooms. "Ja," answered Van; "at a minut's nodish. "I have no sympathy," replied Prudence, "with a man who deliberately fuddles himself with strong drink. He had been formally adopted by the Becks at the age of twelve. There’s no logic in these things.
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