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As she approached, the carpenter's wife eyed her from head to foot, in the hope of finding something in her person or apparel to quarrel with. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. 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. Never had she seemed to him so much like Anna. Will you take me?" However tempting Mrs. “I think I ought to have one. I'll think no more about her.
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