But I’m going to-day. ‘I ain’t done nothing wrong, I swear it. I was visiting the royal family, as they sought me for a tutor for their sons over the summer. . . Arrived there, their first object was to seek out Davies, by whom they were conducted to the lady's retreat,—a lone habitation, situated on the outskirts of Saint George's Fields in Southwark. Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. Await me in the coach. After all, he had the means of setting this tormenting doubt at rest. As no apprehension was entertained of an escape by this outlet,—nothing of the kind having been attempted by the boldest felon ever incarcerated in Newgate,—both doors were generally left open during the daytime. It resembled Mardi Gras, and she thought disdainfully of New Orleans. She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent.
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