It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband. Your uncle—our uncle is with him. "Heaven have mercy on his soul!" ejaculated Wood. She loved her mother Marina more than any other thing in the world and could not bear to speak to her for a fortnight after being told her fate. 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.
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