I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. 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. CHAPTER XXI McClintock's island was twelve miles long and eight miles wide, with the shape of an oyster. As a matter of fact Mr.
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