The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. ‘I have only borrowed it. “Who took care of you after she died?” “My father. “It’s my fault. We are alone and we can say and do what we please.
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