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One thing—he could be thankful for that—the peak of his misfortunes had been reached; the world might come to an end now and not matter in the least. She fled. Giles's church, the bell of which continued tolling all the time, passed the pound, and entered Oxford Road, or, as it was then not unfrequently termed, Tyburn Road. He recognised Anna, and at once addressed her. She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end. “Call me Cathy, John. They were going up the slope into Waterloo Station.
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