The funeral, it has just been said, took place on that day. Nothing is settled upon. Mary Remenham had passed on her every feature to the daughter whose advent had taken her from this world. She glimpsed Chinese penury when she entered a square given over to the fishmongers. Having ascertained that Thames was at his heels, he hurried with his ghastly burthen down Seacoal Lane. ‘And it is perhaps not so necessary that I do so, because Joan has told me of another who may like to say I am the daughter of Mary Remenham.
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