"I can never get poor Tom's last look out of my head, as he stood in the Stone-Hall at Newgate, after his irons had been knocked off, unless I manage to stupify myself somehow. "Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound.
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