From a bi-secting street came shouting and music. "A hell of a muddle! But all the talk in the world can't undo it. The delight of the turnkeys was beyond all bounds; but poor Mrs. . 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. The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned. .
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