I know now what it is to be an abandoned female. 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 made it a point to bring beachcombers to the house to fill her with horror of mankind. A sense of loss was amongst us. ‘It does not matter, Jacques.
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