"It is with no small concern," writes an anonymous historian of Newgate, "that I am obliged to observe that the women in every ward of this prison are exceedingly worse than the worst of the men not only in respect to their mode of living, but more especially as to their conversation, which, to their great shame, is as profane and wicked as hell itself can possibly be. I feel like a fraudulent trustee. "I shall kill her if I stay longer," muttered her son, completely terrified. Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. ’ ‘You little fiend,’ exclaimed Gerald wrathfully. Then she went into the office. I've got an address here. “I love this warm end of summer more than words can tell,” he said. Stanley, “I am anxious. Then you will begin to see. She has been a dear.
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