“I do not suppose he will be home till late. 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 want you. I say, I'll take the yarn over and read it to McClintock. He had been back for two weeks during some pleasant weather in July. He had brought the shrubs down from Syria, and, strangely enough, they had prospered. Nothing but the publicity of the place and the recollection of that terrible constituency kept him from attempting some perfectly respectful but unmistakable evidence of his sympathy. But here’s what is different this time. The massive door was unlocked, and they entered the cell. ” He cried traitorously. ” “Very sad—very sad indeed,” he remarked uneasily.
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