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Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. Cast off this weakness. 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. By this time, several of the terrified domestics appeared with lights. “What do you think of that farce?” he exclaimed bitterly. "You frighten the cull out of his senses. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains.
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