In the first place, Mrs. ‘Jacques!’ She got no further, for Kimble came towards her, speaking fast and low. 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. The way it had happened was stupid, absurd.
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