Then he hovered undecidedly for some seconds with his hands in his pockets and his mouth puckered to a whistle before he turned to go home by the Avenue. Gerald did not know who she was, but he knew who she was not. This lady was singularly lucky in her matrimonial connections. The room in which he was detained—that lately occupied by the Mohocks, who, it appeared, had been allowed to depart,—was calculated to inspire additional apprehension and disgust. On reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession descending the hill. T’weren’t fitting, we knew that. Men usually do.
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