She turned towards the door, and had taken a pace towards it when it was flung open. . “All right?” he asked. . . “Next door,” said a spectacled young person of seventeen or eighteen, with an impatient indication of the direction. " "As an honest Chinaman?"—taking out the offensiveness of the query by smiling. Told you how it would be. Stanley lost patience. 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. His expression altered. But he held the smile until she turned away from the curtain.
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