He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. She inhaled a deep breath of air—London air. " "What is this to me, Sir?" said Trenchard, cutting him short. . I wanted the magic of love. “Well——” She stopped short. It was a dark mysterious place, and what it was used for no one exactly knew; but it was called by those who had seen it the Well Hole.
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