The blinds were all drawn, the sunlight kept out, one could not tell what colors these gray swathings hid. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. ’ ‘Parbleu,’ burst from Melusine indignantly. The Times slipped from his fingers. ” “How?” “Well—a little clumsily. 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. "'Sblood!" cried Jonathan, who had listened to the foregoing conversation with angry wonder, "I've been nicely done here. .
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