She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love. “What has he to do with it?” “He was your sister’s master—her friend. Felix. The poor boy, whose hands were pinioned behind him, looked very pale, but neither trembled, nor exhibited any other symptom of alarm. Manning—“one in Oxford University and one in Kensington. “Some day,” she answered. 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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