And so gentle as the poor creature is, when she's not in her wild fits—it would melt a heart of stone to see her. 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. “Very likely. ” “And that, I suppose,” he said, waving his stick towards Mr.
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