It ought not to be much. The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. There was a pint of champagne and a quart of mineral water (both taboo) at his elbow. Something with iron resolve the father had kept hidden all these years in the lonely citadel of his heart. Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street.
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