And they could talk, they found; and never once, it seemed, did their meaning and intention hitch. He had barely settled at his desk in his library, when he was disturbed by two morning callers. ‘And I’ll say it as often as I choose, you confounded impertinent wench! Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m your grandfather, girl. “She has nothing to be afraid of,” he continued. A group of ten began emerging outside the ticket area. 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. For a moment he believed this merely a new phase of the dream.
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