He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. “Tell me,” she insisted, “why you look like that. ” He faced her doggedly. "You have always been, far dearer to me than myself," replied Mrs. "Rather a devil," groaned her son, "to have done this. ’ She gestured at his hand, on which Roding’s makeshift bandage had been replaced by a more efficient one. CHAPTER XXII.
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