A slight cough uttered by Jonathan at the moment awakened the echoes of the place, and was returned in hollow reverberations. The transverse spars before mentioned were as slippery as ice; and the hollows between them were filled ankle-deep with water. "Whose child can this be?" "How the devil should I know!" replied Jonathan gruffly. It wasn’t anything splendid, you know. She came in now with an air of reserved solicitude. We were talking about the suffrage—and I rather scoffed. To prevent the recurrence of any such escape as that just described, it was deemed expedient, in more recent times, to keep a watchman at the top of Newgate. Profligate women are never reclaimed.
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