“And yet,” he said, “you bid me talk cheerfully, or not at all. The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees. 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. He is big and powerful; one of those drinkers who show it but little outwardly. " Broken pipes littered the floor, if that can be said to be littered, which, in the first instance, was a mass of squalor and filth. He sent me home. Gracious, there’s the gong. Sadly, the Christmas break came to an end.
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