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. “Turn me. “There’s the classes,” said Constance, the well-informed. “When did you start?” She said between puffs. He seated himself before it. ” To which the only possible reply seemed to be, “I’m not coming home.
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