There could not, he decided, possibly be two girls so much alike. I’ll drive you home once my buzz goes away. Death belongs to God, young man. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. I can't run in these heavy fetters. 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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