He swore that I was his wife, that chance had given me to him at last. She regarded him coldly, as though wondering whether he had anything further to say. "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. I don’t know. He had removed his silk hat, and now sat looking at Ann Veronica over an untouched cup of tea; he sat gloating upon her, trying to catch her eye. Everett’s gaze dropped to the papers in his hand. "This your regular business?" "For the present.
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