In the grate were some charred fragments of a marriage certificate. A pair of long-lashed blue eyes studied them both as she slowly brought her hands down to rest by her sides. 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. “Ye Gods!” she said at last.
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