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. “Bother it all!” she swore. No matter what they do, always someone to bolster them up, to lend them money, and to coddle them. " "But, Lord, man!—don't you ever get lonesome?" "Don't you?" "I'm too busy. ” Lucy spoke up, “We used to call that ‘playing the coquette’. Spurling, half aside.
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