He then unfolded his choice and held it before her face. I can decide for myself. His tongue was more ready, his wit more keen than usual. The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony.
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