"My name is Kneebone," added the portly personage, stepping forward. ’ ‘Merci. "I didn't know the machine had such stuff in it," said McClintock. “I am very glad to hear you say it,” he repeated, and refrained from further inquiry. The cage at Willesden was, and is—for it is still standing—a small round building about eight feet high, with a pointed tiled roof, to which a number of boards, inscribed with the names of the parish officers, and charged with a multitude of admonitory notices to vagrants and other disorderly persons, are attached. .
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