In the upper hall he paused to listen. " "A white wall is a fool's paper, Jack,—remember that," rejoined Wood. ToC After running to some distance down Seacoal Lane, Jack stopped to give a last look at the vehicle which was bearing away the remains of his beloved and illfated mother. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. It must be some days before you can arrange for her to make an identification.
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