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‘I am done, Gérard. Oh the back of her arm she found the faintest down of hair in the world. Laying these carefully aside, he restored the drawer to its place. ” “You have her face and figure,” he muttered. 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. “What can one say?” she exclaimed.
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