"We'll see that," replied Jonathan. 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. At least, you are one, and I am disguised like one. “Don’t!” she begged. "My name will only be remembered as that of a robber," he mused; "but it shall be remembered as that of a bold one: and this night's achievement, if it does nothing else, shall prevent me from being classed with the common herd of depredators. The air became hot and swollen with June humidity.
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