” “Are you in a hurry,” she asked carelessly. " "I agree to that. " "Then this is not my child?" exclaimed she, with increased astonishment. There she would wander about in the kindly darkness. And then the fetters, which were still upon his legs:—how was he to get rid of them? Tired and dispirited, he still wandered on. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. Though by no means so extensive or commodious as the modern prison, Old Newgate was a large and strongly-built pile.
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