The night before they made McClintock's Ruth and Spurlock leaned over the rail, their shoulders touching. "But if my career were truly exhibited, it must be as one long struggle against destiny in the shape of—" "Jonathan Wild," interposed Gay. But there was only Gosse, still struggling with the picture, looking dazedly towards Melusine and the lad he had shot, then away towards the sounds of pursuit, and back again. He kissed her cheek. 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.
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