‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. Probably his first serious bout with John Barleycorn. “With your permission I should like to search the remainder of your rooms. 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. A tarnish of constraint that had recently spread over her intercourse with Capes vanished again.
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