It makes no difference. Through fire and water, through penury and pestilence, your hand will always be on his shoulder. “Whither away?” he said, very distinctly in a curiously wheedling voice. " "Don't hurry yourself," said Jonathan, "I'll wait for you here. He would never recognize me now. Just as the attendants were preparing to lower the corpse into the earth, Jack fell on his knees beside the coffin, uttering the wildest exclamations of grief, reproaching himself with the murder of his mother, and invoking the vengeance of Heaven on his own head.
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