He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. The train, meantime, had passed Marylebone Lane, when it again paused for a moment, at Jack's request, near the door of a public-house called the City of Oxford. “I ought to have done anything! “What’s a man for? “Friendship!” He doubled up his fist, and seemed to contemplate thrusting it through the window.
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