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. "Bury her in Willesden churchyard, as she requested, on Sunday," said Jack. I am apparently a beast, a pig and an imbecile, too, if memory serves me. Earles is going out at twelve sharp—important engagement.
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