Once they were on the move, Kimble seemed to find strength from somewhere. 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. Lady Palsworthy was the widow of a knight who had won his spurs in the wholesale coal trade, she was of good seventeenth-century attorney blood, a county family, and distantly related to Aunt Mollie’s deceased curate. The noise startled the apprentice, who instantly suspended his labour, and gazed anxiously in the direction whence he supposed it proceeded. “I hope,” Annabel answered lazily, “that you have succeeded. Then she threw the volume away with a little impatient exclamation. ” There were no such girls and no such positions. Instead, her husband was probably wise.
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