“Think of the mockery!” she said. ‘You are rude, and stupide, and altogether a person with whom I do not wish to speak. 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. I want to do something. It was the blood she found that cemented her decision that her foster daughter was a criminal.
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