Then he lifted the black cloak-like garment from the floor. I’m not a lovesick boy. Michelle seemed so innocent and sweet. 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. It is so ridiculous. ‘Jacques?’ she called. The doorbell tinkled and Michelle grabbed her purse and rushed down the creaky wooden stairs.
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