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. She was obliged, as she explained continually to every one who cared to listen, to be so very particular. But still you have told me of my real mother when I thought it was Suzanne Valade. But that's his American education.
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