After all, life had still its pulsations. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. Having ascertained that Thames was at his heels, he hurried with his ghastly burthen down Seacoal Lane. Did you know you’re very maternal? Damn, you’re more maternal than my Mom. But don't thank me; thank Miss Enschede.
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