"To be sure, it's not surprising the poor little thing should be so marked; for, when I lay in the women-felons' ward in Newgate, where he first saw the light, or at least such light as ever finds entrance into that gloomy place, I had nothing, whether sleeping or waking, but halters, and gibbets, and coffins, and such like horrible visions, for ever dancing round me! And then, you know, Sir—but, perhaps, you don't know that little Jack was born, a month before his time, on the very day his poor father suffered. " Sir Rowland's brow darkened. She stepped backwards. He himself had deadened the sound by closing the door. She found herself struggling with a storm of tears. Wily little devil she is. ‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it. ‘Ah, grandpére.
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