"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. I don’t want to Bowdlerize Shakespeare. The recollection was too painful, and he burst into an agony of tears. " To bring down this imperfect sketch of Newgate to the present time, it may be mentioned, that, being found inadequate to the purpose required, the old jail was pulled down in 1770. ‘How could you? No wonder mademoiselle is angry with you. Her bald head had swollen on her shoulders, puffy with fresh blood that ringed her mouth.
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