"My enemy," replied her son. " "When you heard what was going on, why didn't you send for me?" "I didn't know it was going on. My lads," he continued, addressing the partners; "when you've finished this job give that fellow a fresh set of darbies. I just don’t know where to start. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. Close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance. Below the window he saw two coolies carrying a coffin, which presently they callously dumped into a yawning pit. She could have kissed Cathy.
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