Kneebone and Mr. 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. Seeing the footman about to follow her in, Gerald clamped a hand onto his shoulder. ‘That is, if she’s gone that way.
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