Night and day have been alike to me. Charity for the ragtag and the bobtail of the Seven Seas, and none for his own flesh and blood. 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. I consider even now that the present colour is far less becoming. “If my own mother was alive,” sobbed Ann Veronica, “she would understand. She felt as if she had struck them unawares.
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