"Right to a farthing. Manning loomed up ever and again into her world, full of a futile solicitude, and almost always declaring she was splendid, splendid, and wishing he could talk things out with her. After all, his was a pleasant face, and a pleasant voice, and very likely Annabel had behaved badly. 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. There is the key. It was explosive and gratifying. It was impulsive and natural.
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