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. This vile hovering to catch a man’s eye!. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. He had meant to be master of his fate that evening and it had escaped him altogether.
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