No one ate with as much passionate gusto as a teenager could. 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. For a long time he remained standing before the fire, staring at the situation. She put a hand to the lad’s cold cheek and choked on a sob. Every time you mention the father, she turns into marble.
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