CHAPTER XIX. "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. Somebody may be on the watch—perhaps, that old ginger-hackled Jew. Annabel a murderess! It was not possible. We shall have—hardly any money. I don’t love you. She tiptoed to the stand and gathered up the manuscripts which she carried to a chair by the window. “I didn’t ask you to get married. In the struggle the pistol went off, but without damage to either party. And I have made such arrangements that at my decease tardy justice will be done my injured nephew.
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