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. She was consumed by misery and hate. The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. Pshaw!" added he, making an effort to subdue his emotion, "I can't leave you in this way. . Her white shirt was ridiculously utilitarian, but fitted in all the right places, he smirked.
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