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A thousand dollars is a lot of money for an author to earn. 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. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. The constable, Sharples, is in my pay. “I am sure, Anna,” she said, “I do not see why we should conceal the truth from you. She was quite unconcerned.
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