Section 3. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. ‘Yes, miss. Wild on his guard against an assassin. ’ He grinned. ‘Monsieur, my wife intended not to anger you,’ he said in a tone of apology. I wouldn’t even have to use very much gasoline. “You too sing?” he asked. But this might be merely a figurative mode of describing his customary vigilance.
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