The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. We were worried. John said nothing. “Wild horses—not if they have all the mounted police in London—shan’t keep me out. ” “Thank you, Jane. Filled as he was with conflicting emotions, any stretch of silence would be dangerous. "What would my poor mother say to it?" "I was sorry to see that about your mother, Jack," observed Hogarth. Shotbolt," cried the turnkey, "I've good news for you. " "What do you mean, Sir?" asked Trenchard. CHAPTER XII. You’re tired, of course.
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