Her eyes quizzed the major. 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. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. "Come, let's be off. It's precisely the same thing to me to bid my janizaries cut Thames Darrell's throat, as to order Jack Sheppard's execution. " "So do I!" she cried; "for then you would have been really my brother. Trenchard glanced at the document.
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