"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. "Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. Sheppard, whose maternal fears drew her in another direction, hurried off to the Mint. ‘Go on, Gerald. His eyes flashed as he turned towards her. Jackson?" said Wood, significantly.
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