For a moment she too had started and faltered in her exit from the room. “I hope that Mr. She could hardly remember his face except for his brown hair, thick lips, and narrow dark eyes. 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 must break open the door. He is the kind of man who would much prefer a little dust in his eyes.
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