Wood the best of wives. The natural gaiety of the place seemed to have affected them both. Canton is all China at night. Gerald’s task was to stop him from doing so. “You are a dear,” she exclaimed affectionately. 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. He would never be able to figure out that: all these miles from Cuba, and you could get a perfecto for thirteen cents.
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