“But, my dear,” she began, “it is Impossible! It is quite out of the Question. For all that she was of exceptional intellectual enterprise, she had never yet considered these things with unaverted eyes. Rage flooded her at his intent, but she controlled it. "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. ” She let him make love to her that night.
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