“Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over. 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. Lucy looked at her reflection with a measure of awe. “I’ve had most of the things I wanted,” said Ramage, in the stillness of the night. "Strange!" observed the Master; "I thought he'd been at my elbow all this time. Shari proceeded to paint, brush, dust, slather, and blot Lucy’s face with makeup.
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