Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. There are cigarettes and magazines in the corner there. And, if it had not been for a taste for plotting, which was continually getting him into scrapes, he might have been accounted a respectable member of society. “Oh, Ann Veronica!” he cried, “I cannot let you go like this! You don’t understand.
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