“No. Come with me, Langley, and bring the lantern. ’ ‘A French ghost?’ ‘Well, it ain’t a rat this time, Major, I can promise you that,’ Pottiswick had rejoined, his tone affronted. Earles drew out his cheque book. The tears were welling over now, but her voice was steady. 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. ‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. ” She drove off in a little fiacre, nodding and smiling at Sir John, who remained upon the Avenue.
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