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“It is strange that we should have met Annabel,” she said. 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. As she started, rearing up her head, a hand stole about her mouth and closed down hard.
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