“It’s odd—I have no doubt in my mind that what we are doing is wrong,” he said. 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 was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. "Mr. I would not have him know—now—for the world. “My husband and all his friends are fools, and the life they lead is impossible for me. A pity you did not think to tell me that part of the tale at the outset.
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