He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. “But that’s not all. "Lor' ha' mussy, Sir!—how you do talk," said the woman; "this is no robber, I'm sure. What is it that you wish from me? You would like to arrest me for spying? Very well, arrest me. 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.
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