He had found Spurlock. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. 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. After a little further discourse the old man took his departure.
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