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 was by his side. “What were you trying to do?” Lucy asked. The grim mockery of it!—those South Sea loafers, taking advantage of Enschede's Christianity and imposing upon him, accepting his money and medicines and laughing behind his back! No doubt they made the name a byword and a subject for ribald jest in the waterfront bars. “That sounds quite absurd,” she answered.
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