” He chuckled, wincing at the thought. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. With a rustle of her full lilac petticoats, Miss Froxfield turned back to Alderley. 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. ‘Not kill me, I mean.
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