” Sir John acknowledged the introduction without cordiality. With a loud shout, and headed by a powerfully-built man, with a face as black as that of a mulatto, and armed with a cutlass, the rabble leapt over the barricades, and rushed towards the vehicle. 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. “I don’t know how, but I always manage to find a 164 fiddle if there is one around.
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