‘But it is entirely myself,’ she exclaimed aloud. 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. ‘Then I am not mad in the least. ‘It is to say goodbye, you understand. She throws a sort of spell over us all.
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