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CHAPTER III. Wood, with a candle in his hand, which Jack instantly blew out, and darted down stairs. 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. You were afraid of me, afraid that I should have been shocked, afraid of the scandal. “Not only that,” he answered. "Can you not love him?" "Love him!" echoed the widow.
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