Having watched the funeral at some distance, Jonathan fancied he could discern the figure of Jack; but not being quite sure, he entered the church. Burn your palette and your easel. ‘Still—here? Wasting your—time. She was perhaps as near tears as ever before in her life. Here they remained till midnight when, calling for their reckoning and their steeds, they left the house. She pointed hither and yon, smiled and shook her head.
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