" "Hold!" exclaimed the carpenter, in an authoritative voice: "we can't part thus. ’ She pronounced it with a French inflexion, but Gerald understood her to mean the English name he knew. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. If I were a clean, free man—We’ll have to talk of all these things. Man's fate is in his own hands.
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