She produced from the depths of her pride the ugly investigatory note of the modern district visitor. 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. “You’re just a boy! You grow moody and spellbound, John, and the next moment you are ecstatic. “Girl friends.
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