It was a work of no slight danger, for every instant a wall, or fragment of a building, came crashing to the ground. She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. 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. I sometimes laid away my father's clothes in his trunk. ‘You have something more to tell me?’ Jack grinned.
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