Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. Were any thing to happen to him, Newgate wouldn't be what it is, nor Tyburn either. ‘Where the devil have you been?’ ‘Consorting with a nun in the gardens. Earles waiting.
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