” “And I,” Brendon said, humbly, “although I am afraid there is no chance for me, my errand was the same. But are we any more free?” “Well?” “I mean we’ve long strings to tether us, but we are bound all the same. Pile it on! But if you can hear the voice of the mote, the speck, don't let her suffer for anything I've done. 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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