I still have a cross stitch she made for me of a little fairy sitting on a daffodil. 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. "Caught!" shouted the head-turnkey. ‘En tout cas, I have waiting for me a cavalier.
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