"Stop, Caliban," interposed Mrs. ’ *** Martha sniffed dolefully, scrubbing at her reddened eyes with a large square of damp linen. His grip twisted her wrist. Full twenty highwaymen blithe and bold, Rattled their chains in that dungeon old; Of all that number there 'scaped not one Who carved his name on the Newgate Stone. A single blanket constituted his sole covering at night.
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