That night a grave was dug in Willesden churchyard, next to that in which Mrs. Manning,” she said, “for a time—Will you tell no one? Will you keep this—our secret? I’m doubtful—Will you please not even tell my aunt?” “As you will,” he said. By his side sat a remarkably stout dame, to whom he paid as much attention as it was in his iron nature to pay. Julian had been working his way through college at a factory and was close to graduation. 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. "Perhaps that would have been best. ‘You’ve cause to be grateful to Gerald, then. My mother shall never degrade herself by a connection with you.
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