Shortly afterwards,—it seemed an age to the anxious mother,—Mr. “Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. 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. "Jack," said the other, sternly; "don't provoke me further, or I'll give you a thrashing. Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book.
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