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This way, Sir Rowland. \"I told you he likes you!\" She whispered hotly into Lucy's ear. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. "It is with no small concern," writes an anonymous historian of Newgate, "that I am obliged to observe that the women in every ward of this prison are exceedingly worse than the worst of the men not only in respect to their mode of living, but more especially as to their conversation, which, to their great shame, is as profane and wicked as hell itself can possibly be. "Aha! my lad!" he cried without appearing to regard the pain of the wound; "now I'll show you no quarter.
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