” “I wonder how he treated Gwen. 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. " "With a face as square and flat as a bottle of gin. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. He haunted a state between hectic dreaming and mild delirium, and she found herself talking aloud to him. If I let you believe I did not love you, and they found me, your shame would be negligible.
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