Our mutual safety requires it. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. So far the boy's mind was clear. It was time to disappear, no more Becks, no more Spaghetti Nights, no more afternoon kisses in the park with John Diedermayer. 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. \" \"If only it worked that way! Oh, it’s just not fair. The queer phase of the dream was this, she was at no time a woman; she was symbolical of something, and he followed to learn what this something was. " "I don't see how this is to be effected, unless you yourself were present at the time," said Wood, glancing suspiciously at the speaker. “You see,” he said, “you are like an inaccessible gold-mine in all this sort of matter.
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