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You may enjoy your pride, your arrogance—in a coffin. . “It is not that. Beyond was a field sloping steeply upwards, and at the top a small pine plantation. 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. “It is not possible,” he exclaimed. “No, Lucy, it isn’t fine and I am sorry. Wood's house at Dollis Hill on Tuesday'—that's two days ago,—'hasn't been heard of since.
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