” He strode away and vanished in the gathering fog. There was something fatalistic about the letter H. "Now, then, Saint Giles!" interposed Sheppard, "are we to be kept here all night?" "Eh day!" exclaimed Sharples: "wot new-fledged bantam's this?" "One that wants to go to roost," replied Sheppard. There are no funerals among the poor, only burials.
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