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. Look at the cock’s feathers, look at the competition there is everywhere, except among humans. “They are coming past our table. This door was crested with spikes, and guarded on the right by a bristling semicircle of spikes. Of course, there'll be a few kinks to straighten out.
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