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. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye. ‘C’est à dire, I would say from my father only comes the English. I have yet another.
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