People were passing in the street below. ‘Why do you think I want a man ready to run to me with every move she makes?’ countered Gerald. A scene now ensued, highly characteristic of the age, and the occasion. She loved to be there, taking part in it all, breathing it, being it. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. ’ ‘Oh,’ Gerald uttered, disappointed.
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