Occasionally he relit his pipe. Sheppard,—"pray let me go. 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. The family always managed to make it home for supper, even though it was a dying custom.
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