The iron slipped from his face, leaving it blank with astonishment. ‘Never mind that now. 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. There were too many kills, too many unsolved files in too many cabinets.
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