“I think,” he said, “that you have found the real home of the lotus-eaters. 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. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. Arrived at the extremity of the building, he found that it overlooked the flat-roof of a house which, as far as he could judge in the darkness, lay at a depth of about twenty feet below. They clapped wildly afterward. Sheppard wildly. "Have you got Jonathan out of the way?" he asked, in an eager whisper. It was as if she had come upon the beautiful marble façade of a fairy palace, was invited to enter, and behind the door—nothing. Just then—I was nervous.
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