“Go on!” she commanded. 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. She began to draw on her gloves thoughtfully. ‘Come on, Hilary. The young lady with frizzled hair, whom Brendon had pointed out to her as Miss Ellicot, leaned forward from her hostess’s side. ‘That’s right, you bone idle do-nothings.
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