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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. And put ‘em in little books for remembrance. Upon my word—you are Miss Pellissier, aren’t you?” “I certainly am,” she admitted. Besides, you cannot visit people armed with a pistol in London, you know.
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