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. ‘Not where we’re going. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. “It may not be just and so forth, but, after all, it is how things are. ” “Uh. Spurling? Why, if Captain Sheppard should get off, it 'ud be fifty guineas out of my way.
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