"Bury her in Willesden churchyard, as she requested, on Sunday," said Jack. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. "Thames, this is no forgery. I’ll need you to go back to the barracks and fetch more men up to town. You see—I didn’t understand. "I have," replied Jonathan.
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