He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. Presently the odour of burnt powder mingled agreeably with that of the incense. Dear me! if there isn't his knock. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. "If so, I may as well execute my warrant.
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