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. He was now at the entrance of the chapel, and striking the door over which he had previously climbed a violent blow with the bar, it flew open. She ignored his question. " "My mind's made up," rejoined Jack, coldly,—"we part to-night. Lucy aimed the firearm at Rhea’s chest. .
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