" "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling. “Who will you stop with?” “I shall go on my own. 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. Or felt it.
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