‘I can’t tell you the times I’ve wished for a gun to point at Hilary’s head. This is not true at all. 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. The fact itself is regrettable enough—regrettable, I fear, is quite an inadequate word. ” He leaned towards her. I'd go for it.
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