And it's uncanny. I should think, Anna, that your own sense—er—of propriety would enable you to see this. She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. She guarded her mother, or at least she had liked to think so. "To be sure, it's not surprising the poor little thing should be so marked; for, when I lay in the women-felons' ward in Newgate, where he first saw the light, or at least such light as ever finds entrance into that gloomy place, I had nothing, whether sleeping or waking, but halters, and gibbets, and coffins, and such like horrible visions, for ever dancing round me! And then, you know, Sir—but, perhaps, you don't know that little Jack was born, a month before his time, on the very day his poor father suffered. “We can,” he said, “and we will. " He patted her hand.
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