‘Oh, peste, you make me late!’ She glared up at Roding. Forthwith he presented his card. ‘Certainly, if I was a nun, I know of many good names. “Very well,” he said, “I will go. “What has he to do with it?” “He was your sister’s master—her friend. 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. After that night she made it a habit. I decided to go in and wait. “Very,” and cracked a walnut appreciatively.
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