“I will be off,” she declared. 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. “The fellow is not such a blackguard, after all. You shall swing for this after next sessions, or my name's not Jonathan Wild. A woman touched him lightly on the arm, and smiled into his face.
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