She was emerging from the primordial as Spurlock was declining toward it. She addressed her letters, meditated on them for a time, and then took them out and posted them. "It's a mysterious transaction altogether. 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. " Her island! How well he knew it, thought Spurlock, for all he lacked the name and whereabouts! Suddenly a new thought arose and buffeted him. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet.
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