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. Pile it on! But if you can hear the voice of the mote, the speck, don't let her suffer for anything I've done. The immense disillusionment that awaited him! The devastating disillusionment! She had a vague desire to run after him, to state her case to him, to wring some understanding from him of what life was to her. ‘What else do you expect? It’s the penalty you pay for marrying an Englishman.
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