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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. It hardly served his interests. His brute strength surged through her veins, she could feel his energy in her heart, his life force stolen like candy from a baby. “Bother it all!” she swore. She fought a compulsive urge to yank his shirt free. ‘Gone!’ he said. She heard the sounds of Rhea scuttling about, and then feeding, brutally. " "Thank God for that!" cried Wood, heartily.
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