There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. 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.
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