She recalled how she had stretched out her arms toward the magic blue horizon. She watched the people and hummed softly to herself. “I wish. Say something. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page. 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. If I'd not gone mad, they would have hanged me. But here was new music, tender and kindly and whimsical, that first roved to and fro in the mind and then cuddled up in the heart. We have so much to be thankful for.
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