“Yes,” he said, “I shall come. “Did he tell you, Annabel?” “Yes. “I have noticed,” he said, “that you seem to delight in taking a topsy-turvy view of life. 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. Friday was not a big dinner night at the Beck house.
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