The crowning aspect of the incident, for her mind, was the discovery that he and her indiscretion with him no longer mattered very much. . That had shut him up for a while. 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. ‘Dieu du ciel, but answer me!’ Martha’s eyes were swimming again, and she reached out.
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