He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. “Thank you, ma’am. The winter had turned sea and sky to a wet gray. ” “What do you want?” he asked, bluntly. ” “My message is urgent,” he said firmly. He displayed a quite unprofessional vein of mysticism in the matter.
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