He was also, had she known it, more than a little insincere. Jonathan, though a very powerful man, was like an infant in his gripe. That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals. “Go it, miss!” cried one. The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees.
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