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. She reminded him of his linnet, when he gave the bird the freedom of the house: it became filled with a wild gaiety which bordered on madness. “You are mine, Annabel, and nothing shall ever make me give you up. ‘Why, you have heard yourself all that is being said. “I have a letter for him from his brother, which I was just leaving.
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