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He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. “We must go. Sometimes we had the Illustrated London News and Tit-Bits. He was brooding over her, she could sense it, and the shadowy circles around his lovely dark eyes bespoke a terrible ongoing insomnia. She remembered him as a dull figure, a big man with a belly that was already showing fat under his fine scarlet clothes.
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