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. Courtlaw—Lady Mackinnor. " "We'll see that, young hempseed," replied Sharples, shutting the hatch furiously in his face, and locking it. \" He commented heartily, wiping the sweat from his brow with his hand. But we get over it.
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