Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. 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. He obeyed, letting the garment fall to the floor.
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