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. ‘You the fellow Gerald spoke to?’ Kimble flushed beetroot, and Melusine had a flash of insight. If you can imagine it, I survived it. He was disquieted.
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