"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. She turned her eyes to him again, and saw her late friend and pleasant and trusted companion, who had seen fit suddenly to change into a lover, babbling interesting inacceptable things. His hair had begun to gray, his belly had just begun to round. He had a narrow escape, however; for, passing within an inch of him, the bullet burried itself deeply in the wall. “I saw him stagger and sink down, and the pistol was smoking still in my hand. Open that bottle with a blue seal, my dear. My son wanted to marry a woman of thirty in a tobacconist’s shop.
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