He’s out in Phoenix last I heard. " He passed it over; and Ruth read: To be opened in case of my death and the letter inside forwarded to the address thereon. ‘I do not believe you. 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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