Jack had been touched in the morning, but he was now completely prostrated. The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain. Whatever you need to do, it is your business. " "You hear, my son," said the widow eagerly. And think things out. " "My death will lie at your door," remarked Jackson to the carpenter. I am suspected of having shot the man. ’ ‘Let’s. " At the door of this tavern, which was situated on the left of the street, not more than a hundred yards distant from the church, the bell of which began to toll as soon as the procession came in sight, the cart drew up, and the whole cavalcade halted. .
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