"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. “You wish me to stay?” he asked, in a low tone. ” “I am your friend,” he said slowly, “whatever you may have to tell me. It rained heavily all day, so he did not stir forth. Waving a white flag, naturally. Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. He was beautiful and perfect, his blue eyes smiling at her.
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