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 are an angel," she cried, with a look beaming with delight. She hated to leave; for this hour would be the most interesting. Very well, then. Besides, my husband has shares in Sir John’s company.
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