She looked at him curiously. . "This she-devil has got hold of the sack. ’ ‘Who’s bleeding to death?’ demanded Trodger. She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. Your mother, for instance, couldn’t. Then she looked up at Brendon. As he lay on his back, he fancied himself gradually slipping off the platform. 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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