"Then you need no further information from me," rejoined Jackson, sternly. 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. “I was lonely. Or else he was indeed obsessed. Thames, look the door.
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