"Friends!" echoed Kneebone, with a look of dismay. Someone had thoughtfully wrapped a bit of tissue paper round the electric bulb. C. 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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