” “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” He accused. 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. His conscience never told him to go back and take his punishment; it tortured him only in regard to the deed itself. “I wondered.
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