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. It’s a thing I’ve unaccountably overlooked. Ruth and Spurlock separated, the one embarrassed, the other utterly dumfounded. She would just walk out of the house and go. "Don't speak ill of him behind his back, father," interposed Thames.
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