Even now, during the recurring doubts of the future, the thought of the island was repellent. It’s the only clean way for us. 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. “Listen, Annabel,” he said hoarsely. “I ought to look up Gwen,” she said. ” He leaned back for his soup.
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