It had been her father’s surname, and it had sounded far more innocuous and American than Iovelli. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. ‘Quite mad, nuns are. ‘Soldier of fortune. 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.
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