“No!” Her thoughts had turned in a new direction. Spurlock was no longer a man before this instinct; he was a child in trouble. Damn! I’ve splashed. 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.
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