That did not sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower of the water-clock. He glanced up at the coachman. 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. Not so Gosse. Little Anna screamed and thrashed as she was torn from Lucy’s skirts. “You know I’m old-fashioned, Miss Stanley.
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