" "Never," replied Sheppard bitterly. Then there came briskly along the path towards her, an Englishman. Black blood and white bone flew into the corners of the crypt, slathering the dead faces of the corpses left piled in the corner. “One has to be so careful of one’s friends and acquaintances,” he remarked, by way of transition. 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. Speak lower.
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