This made the eleventh. In the twilight he had ceased to be a person one could tackle and shame; he had become something more general, a something that crawled and sneaked toward her and would not let her alone. Hill was exchanging greetings with his hostess, and salutations around the table. ‘What would you? The nuns they would not believe me, and so it was not possible for me to stay. The back of the house had been the Alps for climbing, and the shrubs in front of it a Terai. 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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