"That's your hunting ground," said the doctor. 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. Her dainty shoes were soiled with dust and there was a great tear in her skirt. " "Nonsense!" cried Wood; "while there's life there's hope.
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