Melusine came close again, and reached up a finger tentatively to the face depicted there. It was the one that she had sworn she’d throw out, if only Julian had not liked it so much. 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.
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