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. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. It was the first expression of the mother's blood. I might have known it. ” “You know,” he said with some hesitation, “that your sister is singing.
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