Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape. Meanwhile, she was spirited away from John and bombarded by half-familiar people who attempted to chat with her above the roar of the crowd. ‘I’ll get the key,’ said Roding, turning abruptly. 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. One nail drives out another, it's true; but the worst nail you can employ is a coffin-nail. He displayed a quite unprofessional vein of mysticism in the matter. ’ ‘Don’t be too sure,’ said Miss Froxfield darkly, with a mischievous glance at her betrothed. I forget. ’ The footman did not object, but it was plain he felt he was neglecting his duty, for he emitted an admonitory cough, causing the captain to pause in his way to the library across the hall. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. She lunged without warning again, and Gosse, just catching her blade on his own, was obliged to retreat backwards up the little stair.
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