The house was eerily silent, which alerted her to the idea that someone might be listening. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. 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. ” “Where do you go?” “Oh!—Alps. .
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