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. She could smell the sweet girl child he had buried in the garage in autumn, 1 even under the frozen ground. She had never dreamed of such decadence, never imagined that young people could be so happy and healthy.
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