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. “We’re in for it. Still, it was rather terrible to suspect that one had fallen from grace, but nevertheless the thing was possible. ‘Jacques?’ ‘No.
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