Racing, he reached it perhaps a moment or two later. She regarded the young man coldly. Yes. “Yeah. Wood; but they never come now. He paused at the bamboo curtain of her room, which was in semi-darkness. 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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