His glasses were gone. “Have to take your turn,” he remarked laconically. Her sister had told him that it was true. "Enough," said the widow, gratefully. Wood had been my father, as well as yours. He laughed once or twice at himself as he paced backwards and forwards. Entering London, he bent his way towards the west-end; and having some knowledge of a secondhand tailor's shop in Rupert Street, proceeded thither, and looked out a handsome suit of mourning, with a sword, cloak, and hat, and demanded the price. Stanley.
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