"Bury her in Willesden churchyard, as she requested, on Sunday," said Jack. This year—I’ve got it badly. She got a bun and some cocoa in the little refreshment-room, and then wandered through the galleries up-stairs, crowded with Polynesian idols and Polynesian dancinggarments, and all the simple immodest accessories to life in Polynesia, to a seat among the mummies. From the opposite corner under the trees a man with his hat slouched over his eyes stood and glowered at them.
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