But—but how?’ ‘Can you write?’ Gerald asked, digging into one of his capacious pockets and bringing out a leather ring purse. She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively. She dismissed the idea of doing so. I have no right to love you. " "Most likely," observed Jonathan, with a slight sneer; "the ghost of some highwayman who has just breathed his last in Newgate, no doubt. Some years after the date of this history, an immense ventilator was placed at the top of the Gate, with the view of purifying the prison, which, owing to its insufficient space and constantly-crowded state, was never free from that dreadful and contagious disorder, now happily unknown, the jail-fever. I can assure you, I wouldn’t be single again for worlds. " She opened the book which she had brought to the table.
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