I saw someone in there whom I have always hoped that I should never meet again. No—you shall come with me to Waterloo. “I haven’t a scrap—of this sort of aversion. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. I have written, called—of what avail is anything—against that look. I said I’d make shirts. 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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