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 spied him sitting on his armless black couch, his feet splayed as he stared at his television blankly. . But you couldn't. It is dull—deadly dull. "The worst house in the neighbourhood—the constant haunt of reprobates and thieves," groaned Wood.
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