He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room. "It is with no small concern," writes an anonymous historian of Newgate, "that I am obliged to observe that the women in every ward of this prison are exceedingly worse than the worst of the men not only in respect to their mode of living, but more especially as to their conversation, which, to their great shame, is as profane and wicked as hell itself can possibly be. ” “Clear out?” cried Hetty. They even talked about friendship. He frowned. Then a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the bird from singing; it was her favourite canary.
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