" Ruth slightly brushed the withered cheek. " "I know a man…. ’ ‘Not French?’ echoed Hilary. 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. And it's uncanny.
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