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. “There was a keg, hash, LSD, pot, you know, the usual. Yes, of course. ‘Here we go again. It seems only yesterday that she was running down the Avenue, all hair and legs. You are just necessary to life for me.
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