‘How did you know that Mary was his daughter?’ Gerald hesitated. She did not want particularly to know what had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the old coat. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees.
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