She was watching him intently. Humph. The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated. ’ So that was it. ’ He sighed. 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.
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