"First take the child," cried Darrell, holding up the infant, and clinging to the oar with a dying effort. His breakfast despatched, which he ate with a wolfish appetite, he walked over to Newgate, chuckling as he went at the consternation which his appearance would create amongst the turnkeys. She was not allowed to bathe herself: another prisoner, with a privileged manner, washed her. " "He's coming!" cried Jack, stamping his foot, with vexation.
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