The silence grew unbearable, so she asked, \"What is your surname, John?\" \"My surname? You mean my last name?\" \"Yes. God bless you, Auntie! I'll go into the mills and make pulp with my bare hands, if you want me to. ‘It is you who is the fool,’ she threw at him, whipping round again. We could have secured you when you left the Mint. The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. ’ She ended on a note of sheer frustration, clenched fists beating the air. ToC Tyburn was now at hand.
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