The night had swallowed him up, but his work on her was done. "Most persons would have guessed my meaning. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. “Number 13, please, cabman.
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