He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. If you could see how it gives them souls, women who have taken things for granted, who have given themselves up altogether to pettiness and vanity. He hated the taste of it. She recognized the cloth at once, waylaid him, and with that directness of speech particularly hers she explained what she wanted.
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