He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. ‘But I find you excessively rude, Gérard. “Good God!” he exclaimed. . Perhaps she did love research for its own sake, she was certainly gifted enough.
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