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. ‘Lord in heaven, could it be so?’ ‘Don’t look at me,’ exploded Hilary. It must be somewhere hereabouts. She is the image of what I was like, and she has a better voice. She expanded that. There were game watermen and game lightermen, heavy horsemen and light horsemen, scuffle-hunters, and long-apron men, lumpers, journeymen coopers, mud-larks, badgers, and ratcatchers—a race of dangerous vermin recently, in a great measure, extirpated by the vigilance of the Thames Police, but at this period flourishing in vast numbers. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent.
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