He would go there. 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. There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. "He must be somewhere hereabouts," cried one of the horsemen, dismounting. " "But why not?" The doctor dallied with his teaspoon. “I wish he had,” she said. Michelle repeated herself brashly, “A vampire, silly.
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