“I believe,” he said stiffly, “that these are the apartments of Miss Pellissier. 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. ” “Rather! But I wonder why you don’t mean it?” “Because, I suppose, the other thing is better. "If you've done wrong, confess it, and I'll forgive you!" "I don't deserve to be forgiven!" returned Jack, bursting into tears; "for I'm afraid I've done very wrong. She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness.
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