Wood was an old friend of mine—and I recollect seeing Jack when he was bound 'prentice to him. He believes that he is leaving this conscience behind; and I want to watch his disillusion on this particular point. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. Soon they came to treat Lucy almost as mother, pulling hard at her brown curls and laughing delightedly as they sprang back into their spiral shape. ‘But it is not on the horse at all, Jacques.
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