“You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. “I’m so glad you’re here, Peter,” she said. How do you like the story?” “Go on,” said Ann Veronica, a little hoarsely, “tell me all of it. She refused to accept her fate, but what is it that she could do about it? Night after night she invented alternatives. 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. The roofs and gables of many of the houses had been torn off. .
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