Not MY affair. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. 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. They shouted to her from the wings to come off. ’ ‘Useful certainly. A thin mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly look.
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