"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. ‘Let it fall!’ ‘Brute!’ she spat, struggling, and he knew at once he had guessed aright. She hoped that he would at long last remember his young male pride. ‘I knew it. It would have saved me much circumlocution, and you some suspense. Never for a moment had violence come between these two since long ago he had, in spite of her mother’s protest in the background, carried her kicking and squalling to the nursery for some forgotten crime. Was she interested in that young ass who was risking his bones over there in the city? They had come up on the same boat. It's big, thanks to you. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face.
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