She moved forward almost indiscernibly, a millimeter. The agonized mother could scarcely repress a scream at the spectacle that met her gaze. It interwove with her biological work. Within that dungeon lay Captain Bew, Rumbold and Whitney—a jolly crew! All carved their names on the stone, and all Share the fate of the brave Du Val! With their chisels so fine, tra la! "Save us!" continued the apprentice, "I hope this beam doesn't resemble the Newgate stone; or I may chance, like the great men the song speaks of, to swing on the Tyburn tree for my pains. “I am bored,” she said abruptly. She wanted to be alone.
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