Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. The prospect of the gallows would never deter me from taking to the road, if I were so inclined. ‘Jacques! This—this bête he attacks me, and you stand there and you do nothing. On their left the river, with its gloomy pile of buildings on the opposite side, and a huge revolving advertisement throwing its strange reflection upon the black water. 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. And that would spoil it. Now you're up, take this spike.
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