“John, don’t!” she cried. . . He lowered his voice a little and leaned over towards her. Arrived at Westbourne-Green—then nothing more than a common covered with gorse and furzebushes, and boasting only a couple of cottages and an alehouse—he perceived through the hedges the objects of his search slowly ascending the gentle hill that rises from KensallGreen. “Here we are, living in the same suburb,” he began.
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