” Ann Veronica picked a cornflower. If it was not an actual personal lover, it still might be the lover not yet incarnate, not yet perhaps suspected. 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.
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