Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell. 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. I would be the kidnapper, of course, but we would forge ransom notes and exchange monies so that it appeared you were taken by brigands or plotters against the Iovelli family. You have been burning paper, I see. Quite right. It filled his thoughts for the rest of the day, and became an obsession. She winked at him as he shut the door.
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