The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. Wood had retired to his own room, where he had just summoned Thames. ” Michelle reported. His light brown hair was almost crew cut short. 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. “Good God!” he exclaimed.
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