It’s no good. The evenings were dulcet and soft. 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. A wedding procession turned the corner. She was too delicate, too fragile to survive out there. "Can you pull him through?" was the anxious question.
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