The world had not passed by but had gone around it in a tremendous half-circle. "It's not an offer," continued he, "that I'm likely to make, or you're likely to receive every day in the year. ‘Come, cry a truce. You know very well that you took from my easel David Courtlaw’s study of me, and sent it to Cariolus. We are alone and we can say and do what we please. 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. ‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked.
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