Kicked out of there for something shady. Mountains out of molehills and armies out of windmills; and you'll tire yourself in one direction and shatter yourself in the other. 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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