'But I don't desire to spoil sport,—not I. ‘I—I mean, she were—’ ‘Pretty as a picture?’ suggested Gerald. " "That boy'll never rest till he finds his vay to Bridewell," observed Sharples. He hated horizons. He was at length rescued from his assailants,— rescued to perish, seven months afterwards, with every ignominy, at the very gibbet to which he had brought his victim.
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