“It really is not necessary. He stopped abruptly. Her sister had told him that it was true. Grace, confidence, the power of movement even, seemed gone from her. “Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?” She nodded. It doesn’t matter. 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. This was no night for the indulgence of dreamy musing.
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