Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. “I have hurt my father,” she said; “I have hurt my aunt. You are infatuated. You would steal from me then the only man I ever cared a snap of the fingers about. ’ Melusine turned her head. It was better even than the hymn-singing.
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