“I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. 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. After several vain attempts to burst it open, he resolved, as a last alternative, to break through the wall in the part nearest to the lock. ‘Yes, I know. That Capes should love her seemed beyond the compass of her imagination.
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