" "Are you sure of that?" returned Winifred, looking uneasily at Jack. Just as the attendants were preparing to lower the corpse into the earth, Jack fell on his knees beside the coffin, uttering the wildest exclamations of grief, reproaching himself with the murder of his mother, and invoking the vengeance of Heaven on his own head. There was once a philanthropist who dressed with shameful shabbiness and carried pearls in his pocket. They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. Another picture slid across her vision. Or mad, just as the captain had said so many times.
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