“You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything. It creaked slightly. And, if I'd my own way, I'd drown 'em all like a litter o' puppies. 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. She felt very cool as he opened the door for her, as if she should have chic sunglasses and stiletto heels on, dark red lipstick.
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