"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. ” Lucy felt herself grow feverish inside. Jack paused for a moment, and found that his own adventures formed the subject of the ballad. ‘Quite mad, nuns are. You are my wife now and you belong to me. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know.
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