’ ‘Poor sort of a mother,’ Martha said with bitterness. Listen, you. Take my word for it, your troubles are over. We know London, and you are a stranger here. And yet he knew clearly and definitely what he purposed to do, what the future would be. 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.
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