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“John, don’t!” she cried. I know now that I was mistaken. From under his pillow he dragged forth the key to the trunk. The world is known to you. The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. 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. Why ain’t you gorn? Seems to me I had ought to arrest you. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. CHAPTER XVIII The doctor reached for the key and studied it sombrely. “It is in your hands from now on, Shar. "Humph!" exclaimed Jonathan, doubtfully.
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