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His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient. When the turnkey, next morning, stepp'd into his room, The sight of the hole in the wall struck him dumb; The sheriff's black bracelets lay strewn on the ground, But the lad that had worn 'em could nowhere be found. I saw him last night at Jonathan Wild's, after my escape from the New Prison.
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