He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. God! I have cheated myself into a belief that the boy perished! And now my worst fears are realized —he lives!" "As yet," returned Jonathan, with fearful emphasis. My death, probably. I was once a disciple of Saint Peter myself, and speak from experience. ’ The lady sighed and spread her hands.
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