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. “Good luck! Good luck!” She waved from the window until the bend hid him. Her mind wandered back to that fateful day. For an instant, Melusine watched him go. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. I don’t see how they can be. A crutch, with a silver handle, stood by her side, proving the state of extreme debility to which she was reduced.
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