His lips were tight drawn. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. “Do you believe me now?” She asked. "I have," replied Jonathan. " "Anything, my dear," replied Wood, "What is it?" "Bury us together in one grave in Willesden churchyard. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother.
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