In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. “I—I am sorry—I didn’t explain. ” “I realize I can’t see my mom or brother again. 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. " "I'll not go," answered the other.
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