‘Suppose you don’t know what sort of proof she was after?’ he asked. 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. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. Whether the turnkey entertained any suspicion of the old man, Jack could not tell, but that night he was more than usually rigorous in his search; and having carefully examined the prisoners and finding nothing to excite his suspicions, he departed tolerably satisfied. ". Then he looked towards his granddaughter once more, who had flounced away to the window at her greataunt’s interruption. And while her son was reconveyed to prison the body of the unfortunate Mrs. ” “Too much character, and too little sentiment,” he answered. “Yes.
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