*** Madame la Comtesse de St Erme regarded the English major with a lacklustre eye, Gerald thought. There was nothing on her face to hint of the misery that brimmed her heart this morning. 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. uk Take a look at some of my Georgian romances here: https://animoto.
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