" "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. “Please, Michelle, let’s not fight. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. 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. "No prize shall indushe me to enter dat horrid plashe again.
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