‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. Kneebone, are these your French noblemen?" "Don't upbraid me!" rejoined the woollen-draper. "In with him!" "Ay—ay, yer hon'r," cried the foremost chairman, lending a helping hand. 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. " "Get hence," continued Mrs. Something, I'm convinced, has happened to the boys. \"Michelle's here with a rather large cadre of friends.
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