CHAPTER XIV. You are yet a child; and though you have strayed from the right path, a stronger hand than your own has led you thence. Now let us forget it. From the sounds of it, he was better off dead. 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. I'm heading for bed.
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