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He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. 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. Dump popped his head into the cage. And now she was witnessing or observing the complicated machinery of civilization through which they had come, at length to land on the beach of her island. He’s been near it once or twice already. Water sprung from the corners of the school roof, turning it into a gigantic fountain. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. Lord Charvill’s sense of justice would not, however, allow him to repudiate his granddaughter, if indeed this female proved to be the infant lost to the family so many years ago. You've a good deal to go through to-night. Even your family. “I want to ask you a question,” he said.
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