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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. “Are you A, B, C, or D?” he asked. ” “Then, whoever he may be, he is not Meysey Hill,” Courtlaw said.
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