The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees. . “I am a fool,” he said. Melusine shrugged. It never is. Her aunt was making herself cuffs out of little slips of insertion under the newly lit lamp. Two of these had been her particular intimates at the High School, and had done much to send her mind exploring beyond the limits of the available literature at home.
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