She was noisy and hilarious and enthusiastic, and her hair was always abominably done. 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. You know you do, Annabel. She heard him come in; the light burned on. Wood brought up. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. Maggot, dealing him a buffet that sent him reeling several yards backwards.
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