"At my first being acquainted with the place," says this writer, in the 'Miseries of a Prison,' "the prisoners, methought, walking up and down the Stone Hall, looked like so many wrecks upon the sea. A handy knife, and a good tot of something sharp to clean out the wound. That he was hot and breathless was of no matter; in that moment he would have faced a dozen Samsons. I shall give you my life, every moment and thought of my life.
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