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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. " "What proof have you that I am?"—was the return bolt. “It isn’t anything to do with our times particularly. She saw his eyes glaze over.
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