He tore his gaze away, aware of the quickening of his heartbeat. The rooks were cawing amid the boughs, and all nature appeared awaking to happiness. “Yes. \"Oh my word, Mike. Only promise me this. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. "Put up your blade, Sir Rowland," rejoined Jonathan, resuming his former calm demeanour, "King James the Third will need it.
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