In a sense I don’t care. "To—to—no matter what," returned the widow distractedly. The wound lay open for five seconds, and then closed neatly as if it had been stitched by invisible hands. 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.
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