"Oh God!" exclaimed Jack, in a tone of the bitterest anguish. Sheppard did not make her appearance quite so soon as he expected, the carpenter became a little fidgetty, and, having succeeded in tranquillizing the child, he thought proper to walk so far down the entry as would enable him to reconnoitre the upper windows of the house. He folded the garments carefully and replaced them on the chair. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. If there is, it’s a mere wrapping—there’s better underneath. 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. I am tired, and I want to be alone.
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