"Oh! nothin' partickler—mere curossity," replied Terence. 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 wanted to play a lone hand. She had never been there before at that hour, in that light, and it seemed to her as if she came to it all for the first time. He threw her on the bed. ‘But for now, I’m taking you home.
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