She seemed to grow more beautiful to him and not the opposite. "Von't you hear me?—ough! ough!" demanded Sharples, after a pause. That was one of the compensations for having consigned himself to this part of the world. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. I'll be wanting my sixteen thousand.
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