"Come, come, Jack," said Thames, walking up to Sheppard, and taking his hand, "have done with this. Luck. 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.
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