"Bury her in Willesden churchyard, as she requested, on Sunday," said Jack. A slight cough uttered by Jonathan at the moment awakened the echoes of the place, and was returned in hollow reverberations. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. "I've done nothing to offend you," persisted Jack. ’ ‘Ah yes. "Gone," replied the wounded man.
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