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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. “I thought we had discussed that, father. Unless—’ Something clicked in his mind and he stared at his friend without seeing him. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. .
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