"I can never get poor Tom's last look out of my head, as he stood in the Stone-Hall at Newgate, after his irons had been knocked off, unless I manage to stupify myself somehow. Her father read a draft prospectus warily, and her aunt dropped fragments of her projects for managing while the cook had a holiday. Assured, if he remained much longer where he was, he would inevitably perish, Wood recommended himself to the protection of Heaven, and began his perilous course. Jack had brought away the bunch of keys which he had taken from Quilt Arnold, but, none of them would open it.
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