Jonathan is in league with Sir Rowland to make away with you. He took into his soul some of the father's misery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own. 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. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping.
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