"I was at Tyburn. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. She pulled down her veil and made her way to the door. ” “My dear young lady,” the official said irritably, “this man would not have your name and address in his pocket without an object. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. Maggot.
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