Immeasurable disgust possessed her. "Not the sort of stories young ladies should read. They WERE, she realized, acutely beautiful things. 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 loved her and made love to her, and I don’t think she quite loved me back in the same way.
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