He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. “How I am to earn enough sous for my dinner to-morrow—or failing that, what I can sell. "'Odd's-my-life! what's this?" exclaimed the carpenter, looking at the superscription of one of them. But if you do not leave this room I must.
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