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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. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. “That’s all very well when one isn’t the material experimented upon,” Ann Veronica had remarked. I thought you might like to see. He saw himself retreating from barricade to barricade, Ruth always advancing, perfectly oblivious of the terror she inspired. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. Mr.
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