She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. Mrs. 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. " "I don't require it," returned Sheppard. What else was there lurked in shadows and deep places; if in some mood of reverie it came out into the light, it was presently overwhelmed and hustled back again into hiding. It can wait a bit longer. It doesn't annoy me; it only disturbs me.
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