" "Blessings upon him!" cried Lady Trafford, fervently. Sheppard, falling on her knees. She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. 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. "That young man had better watch his cough," said Spinster Prudence. ‘No!’ Melusine snapped as he tugged at the thing. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. “It’s his birthday.
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