" The doctor sent her a sharp, quizzical glance. He savored the last solo, the coda. 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. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. He had sold half a dozen short tales to thirdrate magazines; but this letter had been issued from a distinguished editorial room, of international reputation. 1. ” Lucy said.
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