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. “I cannot reason with you,” he said at last wearily. She seemed to think he was merely the paymaster, handing over the means of her freedom. But I’d have done it without, though it weren’t my place. The pistol, it was not loaded. He had been frozen in time at age forty-two.
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