But at this point he was still subservient, still outwardly humble, in spite of the blackhearted villainy that was even then burgeoning in his breast. Still unconscious of anything he did physically. “I want you to kiss me,” she said. 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. For a time it really seemed all-sufficient to her that she should love.
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