“You’re. All along the wooden benches before it sat a profusion of soldiery, a collection of barbers in attendance, busily employed in replaiting and powdering their hair ready for a military review scheduled for this afternoon. 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. "Can't!" repeated his mother. The day was warm even under an overcast sky and Hilary, uncomfortable, shifted his weight. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion.
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