He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. Oh, I think I understand, Annabel. "She has fallen into the villain's hands. Flinging her back against it, she put her hands out, barring his way. "What's that you're taking to Sir Rowland Trenchard's?" "Only a box, Sir," answered Sheppard, emptying the glass.
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