It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. 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. “I am not dependent upon any one. ‘Precisely. Ramage back his forty pounds.
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