The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. " "No more of this," said Winifred, angrily. For a time he and Miss Klegg contradicted one another. “They seem to come to you as naturally as disappointment—to other people.
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