“A little touchy this evening, aren’t we, Missy?” Michelle chided her friend. 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. ’ ‘It is well seen you are not Gérard,’ Melusine said, but thankful now that he was not.
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