By this time, the procession had reached the west end of the wall of St. “Mr. What'll you be doing?" "What can I do?" asked Spurlock, raising his haggard face. "Mother—dear mother! Once again, I beseech you to listen to me. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. We have lived under the same roof, but our ways seem to have lain wide apart. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other.
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