Her hair is like, white blonde, but trust me, it’s not her natural color. 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. She reached the station, and mingling with a crowd of excursionists who had come from the river on the other side, took her place in the train unnoticed. Here again the clothes were minus the labels.
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