Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. When the twins had first come to live in the 208 house, they were thin and bony, their tiny mouths crying for food. ‘No sense in snooping about down here,’ Gerald whispered. 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.
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