He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. ‘Why, you have heard yourself all that is being said. Oh God! pardon me. ‘That’s why I never told Joan Ibstock that you were still with me when I wrote. A woman may choose any one for her lover, but for her friend she makes no mistake. He added succinctly, ‘Windows are open.
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