He was vaguely uneasy; he knew not what about. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. Melusine had confessed this morning, that she had borrowed his horse, that Jack had met with his accident through her fault. “Why?” “I still love you. I’ll protect you!” He cried.
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