"To be sure, it's not surprising the poor little thing should be so marked; for, when I lay in the women-felons' ward in Newgate, where he first saw the light, or at least such light as ever finds entrance into that gloomy place, I had nothing, whether sleeping or waking, but halters, and gibbets, and coffins, and such like horrible visions, for ever dancing round me! And then, you know, Sir—but, perhaps, you don't know that little Jack was born, a month before his time, on the very day his poor father suffered. " While he was thus musing, he fancied he heard the lock tried. “I can sing the songs ‘Alcide’ sang, and in the same style. If I had never met anything of you at all but a scrap of your skin binding a book, Ann Veronica, I know I would have kept that somewhere near to me. I——” She threw herself into an easy chair. '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea.
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