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. "You will be wanting your broth, Hoddy," she said. Michelle was laid onto the back seat, her head cradled in Lucy’s lap.
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