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\" Lucy shook her hand. 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. One hour later she had gone back to the mission—without the salt. Perhaps, she may tell me whose picture this is. The militia offered little in the way of relief. ” “Who was annoyed?” “Mr.
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