. ’ ‘Was it yours?’ Insulted beyond bearing, Melusine lost her temper. 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. “You go home and think of all this,” he said, “and talk about it to-morrow. I don’t want to tear at you with hot, rough hands. “I am giving my understudy a chance.
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