He did not write this with lead but with his heart's blood. "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. But I know a little place where we’ll get a little quiet talk. Spurlock remained where he was until the sail became an infinitesimal speck in the distance. But she did not listen long; she wanted to talk.
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