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. Her thoughts were busy with the possibilities of this break in her journey. Anna suddenly leaned forward and looked around her. She touched it, and her gaze lifted. “I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. I tried.
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