"But there's nothing more to see in Canton. . Taking the direction pointed out, he rode off. 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. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. She moved her hand off of his knee, deliberately slow. But we're neglecting the punch all this time. " "What!" she exclaimed, staring eagerly in his face. The metrical irregularity is intentional, because I want, as it were, to put you apart: to change the lilt and the mood altogether when I speak of you.
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