“Dear old daddy!” she said, and was amazed to find herself shedding tears. "How, Sir?" "Except by adoption. I’m not a lovesick boy. 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. Oddly, he was seldom angry with her as Gianfrancesco would have been.
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