"Mother!" cried Jack, springing towards her. I certainly didn’t mean to kiss you. Did you break my mother's heart as you tried to break mine? I am no longer accountable to you for anything. Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. ‘Couldn’t even trouble to make a pretence of motherhood. Let her see what she could make here. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. ’ Roding gave him a look of respect. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it.
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