‘Don’t try to turn it off,’ ordered Miss Froxfield. 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 seemed to recollect herself suddenly. ’ ‘No, but you’ve made up for it since. 277 “I was beginning to think that I would never see you again, Lucy. I consented to become Mrs.
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