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. Melusine ripped at the buttons of the garment, dragging it open and away, and gasped at the massive red stain on his shirt. When she got back to her questions again in the monotonous high-road that led up the hill, she found the image of Mr. She had thought it a mirror, because it was her.
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