“You are the type that I want to marry someday, you’ve got a beautiful body, such pretty eyes. The doctor sensed that his bolt had gone wrong, but he could not tell how or why. She longed to own something lasting, anything, but knew her wishes to be stupid. 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.
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