Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon. “You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything. ‘Nevertheless, you will marry me,’ he snarled. He was indeed still in the throes of his bewilderment. "Come away!" he cried, with the roar of a demon. —Strype's Stow.
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