“A wonderful piece of work,” he declared. The boy she had loved was gone. "If I thought he lived——" observed Wood. But this I cannot do. He could lose himself for hours at a time. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. Wood bore up with great fortitude against the shock, attended the inquest, delivered his evidence with composure, and gave directions afterwards for the funeral, which took place on the day but one following—Sunday. At no loss to comprehend that Jack was the individual pointed out by these outcries, two of the nearest of the group made a dash at him. Why ain’t you gorn? Seems to me I had ought to arrest you. “Please stop, cabman,” she ordered.
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