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. ‘Small wonder in a way that he found hisself consolation elsewhere. " "Curse you!" cried Jack, furiously,—"curse you!—curse you!" "Swear away, Captain," rejoined Blueskin, coolly. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth.
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