At length, at the end of a passage, next to the cell where Mrs. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. That is not reasonable. She too had seen. Full twenty highwaymen blithe and bold, Rattled their chains in that dungeon old; Of all that number there 'scaped not one Who carved his name on the Newgate Stone.
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