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. He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. ‘I wish you joy of the wench. Above her head was an aura of white fire. Ann Veronica hesitated with a question that had leaped up in her mind, and that she felt was cruel. "What of her?" exclaimed Jack, starting up. "My plan is a very simple one," rejoined the thief-taker smiling bitterly. There was no one stirring in the flats. When first brought under consideration, she was a miserable and forlorn object; squalid in attire, haggard in looks, and emaciated in frame.
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