It’s just life, pure life, life nascent, running clear and strong. 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. Over these boards the two arms of a guide-post serve to direct the wayfarer—on the right hand to the neighbouring villages of Neasdon and Kingsbury, and on the left to the Edgeware Road and the healthy heights of Hampstead. “It’s very late. The door closed upon her, and he moved reluctantly away. "Well, Jack," said the prize-fighter, in a rough, but friendly voice, and with a cutand-thrust abrupt manner peculiar to himself; "how are you, lad, eh? Sorry to see you here. “You are a dear,” she exclaimed affectionately. Their subsequent conversation is outside the scope of our story.
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