‘Certainly you may have me under guard. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. But one day he came to me. Then they would leave and she would go back to being alone. 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. But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation. I will return to Manchester at once.
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