"My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. 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 seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. "I told you I was not unprotected. Here she would find candy awaiting her, bits of ribbon, books. Thieves and pickpockets are his constant companions.
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