3. When, by slow and toilsome efforts, he had arrived midway, something obstructed his further progress. Marvel was almost dislodged from his seat on the coffin by a dead dog, which was hurled against him, and struck him in the face. “Don’t you think I ought to?” she asked, very submissively. These cogitations were interrupted by the entrance of the doctor. The blouse dried nicely, it would only need a touch of starch and a little ironing. I’ve to collect my sword and hat, and then we must get back to London.
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