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. Every one else does. "It's a mysterious transaction altogether. " "He shuddered when he drank. ‘I’ve finished me report, sir,’ Trodger said aggrievedly. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. She produced from the depths of her pride the ugly investigatory note of the modern district visitor. ” She seemed unmoved, but she did not look at him.
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