There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. " So saying, he raised a whistle to his lips, and blew a loud call; and, as this was unanswered, another still louder. His glance came up again and met hers. But she has let fall enough for me to understand that she knows about her father’s misdeeds. 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. She lived, he noted, very carelessly.
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