"Mrs. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. " So saying, he re-entered the house, closed the door, and, followed by the widow, proceeded to the fire-place, where a handful of chips, apparently just lighted, crackled within the rusty grate. Then you may have a bit of a chance. Of what was she thinking? She must rescue herself. You may well say it's impossible! His Majesty's jail of Newgate is admirably guarded, I must say.
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