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. Wild is incapable of such baseness. “Annabel!” He looked at her thoughtfully. It’s Italian. Also Lucy, who had been so much her friend. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will.
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