He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. She did not open the Bible but laid it on the edge of the bed, knelt and rested her forehead upon the worn leather cover. “It’s a period of crude views and crude work,” said Mr. Gerald’s chest tightened. ” “Give me your blessing? I didn’t ask for it. We must never let your father know we went. ’ There was a chuckle in his voice. The curve of his shoulders, the very angle of his feet, expressed relief at her apparent obedience. At the head of the cart was placed the coffin. It was the grand nursery of vice.
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