They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. "As soon as we've conveyed you to Newgate, I'll accompany him. " "Well, for my part," observed Mrs. She blushed prettily, and in a moment regained command of her tongue. “I believe,” he said slowly, “that I shall do best to throw myself upon your consideration and tell you the truth. "What can it matter to you whether he returns or not, child," rejoined Mrs. "What's that?—Jack's voice!" "It is," replied her son.
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