Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. ‘Will you—what was it?—“blow off his head”?’ Melusine eyed her, a little uncertain. "Some dreadful deed is about to be committed, which I may perhaps prevent," muttered Jack to himself. The likeness was ridiculous. Sorrows and danger and disappointment she had known. That is why they are permitted to rush in where angels fear to tread—and survive their daring! This supreme protection, this unwritten warranty to disregard all laws, occult or apparent, divine or earthly, may be attributed to the fact that none but young fools dream gloriously. Torment! And so Ruth discovered him. I'm ready to bear it all.
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