Her stifled misery had betrayed her. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. He was not sure that the boy had put himself beyond the pale; merely, the boy's actions pointed that way. As Jack conjectured, no one was there, and, though a lamp was burning on a stand, they decided upon proceeding without it. “I do not think so.
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