There would be no way of keeping her police questioning a secret from the entire neighborhood. The gun flew from his hand, clacking on the floor. But tell her this, too. 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 has he to do with it?” “He was your sister’s master—her friend.
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