’ ‘Don’t talk soft,’ begged Martha. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun. She fell asleep instantaneously, fatigued from weeks of exhaustion. He had gained admission somehow, and he too was waiting for Anna. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees.
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