"It is too late. You will torture yourself and torture her all through life; but in the end she will pour the wine of her faith into a sound chalice. She drew a long breath. Her desires were not for riches. "One of you fly to the market," returned Jonathan; "another to the river; a third to the New Mint. It seems to me exactly what is wanted. You are my slave—and such you shall continue. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees.
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