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‘Bête!’ Gerald caught her hand as she pulled it back to deliver another blow. "Oho!" he said. 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. She is not in the least like the descriptions of her. Narrow little beady brown eyes, and she’s got big eyebrows like dead caterpillars. To lose was death, quickly and mercilessly delivered. It's always hard work for a rich man's son to stand alone.
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