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. " "You're strangely superstitious, Sir Rowland," said Jonathan, halting, and looking steadfastly at him. The twenty pounds burned with avidity. " "Many a man has been glad to pay double the amount to get his head from under the Mint pump," observed Blueskin, gruffly. But it’s very beastly. Knew something was up. So he marched into the street, primarily bent upon making the favourable discovery.
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