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 forgot. The bridesmaids and pages got rather jumbled in the aisle, and she had an effect of Alice’s white back and sloping shoulders and veiled head receding toward the altar. He heard the panting of the donkey-engine, then the slithering of the anchor chains. It’s one of our conventional superstitions. So he marched into the street, primarily bent upon making the favourable discovery.
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