"It won't do, widow," said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, "so you may spare your breath. 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. “You know very well that she is selfish and pleasure-loving to the backbone. Even the abstract paintings on the wall were gray.
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