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. Sleep did not come easily, but eventually her mind stopped its chattering and she fell into a deep slumber. Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. " "Silly love stories?" "No; love wasn't the theme.
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