It’s John. "I didn't awake you, because you seemed tired. So long as they're about, I'll always be rewriting them and wasting my time. Not at all. Epithalamy might do. The air, perfumed with the delicious fragrance of the new-mown grass, was vocal with the melodies of the birds; the thick foliage of the trees was glistening in the sunshine; all nature seemed happy and rejoicing; but, above all, the serene Sabbath stillness reigning around communicated a calm to her wounded spirit. Gracious, there’s the gong. Lucy felt her eyes misting up, turning traitor. CHAPTER VIII. Let me lie in Willesden churchyard.
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