On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. It was not possible for him to have been deceived. We Spurlocks take our medicine, standing. This time she feinted as his point came up to deflect her own, and disengaging, passed under and cut at his cheek. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners.
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