Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. May I do so to-day?” “It’s your gate,” she said, amiably; “you got it first. “You are absurd,” she declared. Beyond the steps was a pole-chair in readiness.
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