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. There is something sensual in the thought of lotus flowers. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. Something softened in Melusine’s chest.
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