The black, meantime, began to ply his hammer, and speedily unriveted the chains. "Don't weep, my love," replied the lady, straining him still more closely to her. The mob now directed their attention to Newgate; and, from their threats, appeared determined to fire it. It needs cultivating, I think. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. Ennison was deeply interested.
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