At this terrible juncture, Jack maintained his composure,—a smile played upon his face before the cap was drawn over it,—and the last words he uttered were, "My poor mother! I shall soon join her!" The rope was then adjusted, and the cart began to move. ‘What, miss?’ asked Jack Kimble from behind her. Somewhere, where we can talk without interruption. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road.
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