“Lucy, do you forgive me?” She looked at him in earnest. This Joan would hold them for a little. The sing-song girl rose and meekly pattered out of the office into the night. 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. Maybe it’s his loss. He hasn't found himself, as they say.
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