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. At this juncture, Sir Cecil and his followers appeared at the threshold. There's the grand laced coat he wore at his trial, which I intend for my wedding-dress. Nothing else weighs against it. The sky was cloudless, effulgent blue. I might as well try to build a ladder to heaven. Entranced, he stared at the name. At this moment, a door was opened below; lights gleamed on the walls; and the figures of Rowland and Sir Cecil were distinguished at the foot of the stairs. He stood outside of the car, bewildered, as she walked up to the BMW’s front bumper. Hilary threw up his eyes. Sorrow lay in the back of his mind as he withdrew, but he put it aside. I meant to give him a drubbing. Light flooded the uncarpeted chamber, revealing the decayed state of the place.
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