" She rose. "During the whole of that time I have been a close prisoner in Newgate, whence I have only just escaped. ‘He lacked moral fibre, did Nicholas. Who invented them? Nobody knows. "The gentleman is a stranger to me, Poll," replied the woollen-draper, with increased embarrassment. Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her. Then she put more coal on, piled it over the ashes, and stood once more upright. ‘She’s still bleeding. I’m a soldier, you see. " "Degrade herself," rejoined Jonathan, brutally.
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