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It was not human and yet very human, a high pitched wail of hunger that rattled her skull. 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. Who’s for a rubber of whist?” Ennison made so many mistakes that he was glad to cut out early in the evening. They crossed the street, and entering the front door passed up the outside stone steps of the flat. "Jack," exclaimed the widow, starting up and drawing back the curtain. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. He felt he was human wisdom prudentially interpolated.
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