Lucy knocked again. “Good evening, Dorling,” he said. Shari was snoring, the pill having worked its magic. And it is not at all his affair. 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. . ’ ‘I don’t, as a matter of fact,’ Gerald said decidedly, a frown creasing his brow.
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