What passed between them I cannot think—I dare not. Her father’s step quickened to a trot. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. Maybe others that I do not know about. Perhaps that is why I lost my ambition.
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