‘Lawks-a-mussy! It’s Miss Mary. 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. “Let go!” she gasped at him, a blaze of anger. I’m minded to take a whip and beat some sense into you. ” She could practically hear the self-deprecating thoughts racing across his mind, the failed hours of rehearsed lines. Earles said persuasively.
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