He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. He turned to her and pinned her against the headrest with his kisses. The glance, which he threw at the door, was singularly expressive of his character: it was a mixture of alarm, effrontery, and resolution. When he returned to Hong-Kong, there was a reply to his cable: "Hang on. The world isn't real yet; she hasn't comparisons by which to govern her acts. Where's the dining room? And, say, can I have some eggs? This jam-tea breakfast gets my goat.
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