" "What?" "We'll put those stories back into the trunk and never speak of them to him. “Child!” he cried. 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. How many ends had he? Well, she must cease to trouble herself for this imbecile, whom it would give her very much pleasure to shoot.
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