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. "What do you mean by that, sirrah?" cried Wood, reddening with anger. But with returning breath came returning vociferations; and the carpenter, with a faint hope of lessening the clamour by change of scene, took up his lantern, opened the door, and walked out. He could neither stifle nor deaden that.
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