He seemed to be about to move toward her. Giles's bowl, "as his last refreshment on earth. The Ragged Edge. “Where am I?” he muttered. “Not much,” he answered, “and yet about all there is to be known, I fancy. Her evident terror and distress reinforced the tale he told. 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.
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