“Next door,” said a spectacled young person of seventeen or eighteen, with an impatient indication of the direction. However, no one had discovered me, so I contrived to drag myself to my horse. 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.
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