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. “His stipend forbade it,” she said, and seemed to fall into a train of thought. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. " The tone was neutral. Those are all nice things, but it’s not what I want. ‘You have not the right. ’ ‘Yes, I’m sorry about that,’ Gerald uttered in a rueful tone. '" "An ingenious device," laughed Gay. It’s an instinct. Which, let me assure you, villain, will not be so far away.
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