The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. She laughed altogether in her old manner. The relationship seemed to have almost as much to do with blood and body as a mortgage. Taking the light, they then proceeded along the passage. Old Newgate.
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