It was as if he could smell it on her. 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. "Farewell!" cried Jack, embracing them. "Did you ever see the like of her?" "No," answered McClintock, gravely. Wood. She could tell that he was leering at her.
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