"Hear me, Sir Rowland!" he cried. But we wished to ascertain whether Mrs. But I found it no laughing matter, I can assure you. 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. —Strype's Stow.
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