Cocking the gun. And instead he found her playing the great lady, and playing it well. I have read that authors are very selfish and self-centred. 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. ‘Oh, Lord,’ muttered Gerald, going instantly to her aid.
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