"And, now,—to Newgate. Not even, it seemed, this interfering monsieur le major. Jackson, I could almost fancy we had met before. “Fancy stabbing a man for jealousy!” she thought. Will you please—Not now, or I must go. The Trenchard estates will likewise be mine, for Sir Rowland is no more, and the youth, Thames, will never again see daylight. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. Jack paused for a moment, and found that his own adventures formed the subject of the ballad. Fortunately, I've secured the proof of my birth. "What do you want with me?" "A word in private," replied the other.
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