Nor my grandfathers both. For every Eden, there will be a serpent; for every sheepfold, there will be a wolf. “She has one, that’s why. In the evening, a band of village musicians, accompanied by most of the young inhabitants of Willesden, strolled out to Dollis Hill, where they formed a rustic concert under the great elm before the door. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. ’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it. His hair had begun to gray, his belly had just begun to round.
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