The coachman having received his order, and being offered an extra fare if he drove quickly, set off at full speed. 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. “It’s a matter of feeling with me. H’m. Of you, I mean.
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