The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. . 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. But you have, haven’t you?’ He tutted again.
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