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. Melusine glanced at the walls as she sped down the four flights of stairs, and noted with relief that some paintings remained. A door slammed. \"Hey, I'm Michelle. ‘Who’s this, then? Not soldiers again.
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