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Nothing could have been farther from Melusine’s mind. Of course Nicholas was bound to give her a French name. 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. At the least, the tales had the ability to make her forget where she was; which was something in their favour. He saw the expression on the girl's face and understood what it signified, that it was the reflected pattern of his own. I want to get away—to go to London. I've bumped into so much of the underside that I can't see clean any more. ” There was a moment’s silence.
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