He was now almost driven to despair. And don’t talk until we’re well out of earshot. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. Borne along by the current, Darrell was instantly at the boat's side.
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