” His rhythm slowed to a grind. Come and have lunch with me. Folks don’t like ’em. 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. ” “Climbing?” “Yes.
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