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She thought of her costume in some detail and with considerable satisfaction, and particularly of a very jolly property dagger with large glass jewels in the handle, that reposed in a drawer in her room. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. ToC Monday, the 31st of August 1724,—a day long afterwards remembered by the officers of Newgate,—was distinguished by an unusual influx of visitors to the Lodge. The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators,—so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road,—so were the trees,—the walls of Hyde Park,—a neighbouring barn, a shed,—in short, every available position. "They have ever since been deposited in a place of safety. " In spite of her displeasure, Winifred could not help smiling at the absurdity of this address. There was a deep groan, and the sound of a fall within. Built and paved with stone, without beds, or any other sort of protection from the cold, this dreadful hole, accounted the most dark and dismal in the prison, was made the receptacle of such miserable wretches as could not pay the customary fees. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. “By Jove!” he exclaimed. Give me my pistol and my dagger.
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