In the evening, a band of village musicians, accompanied by most of the young inhabitants of Willesden, strolled out to Dollis Hill, where they formed a rustic concert under the great elm before the door. Other phrases returned now, like echoes. "If I am the devil," observed Wild, "as some folks assert, and I myself am not unwilling to believe, you'll find that I differ from the generally-received notions of the arch-fiend, and faithfully execute the commands of those who confide their souls to my custody. The unfortunate woman was stretched upon the floor, with a bloody knife in her hand. Their doors stood open, and placards with big letters indicated the section assigned to each. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. She was not quite clear how she should find it, but she felt she would. I don’t think of you as a kid.
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