Mr. " "And who is its mother?" asked Jonathan, in an eager whisper. Blood dripped down one side of her forehead. As in all things, so his thoughts came to him deliberately. "To those who, like me, have never been able to get out of the dark and dreary paths of life, the grave is indeed a refuge, and the sooner they reach it the better. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time.
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