"You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild," rejoined Abraham, shaking his head. How could she tell him of the evil that drew her and drew her, as a needle to the magnet?—the fascinating evil that even now, escaped as it was, went on distilling its poison in her mind? "Yes, yes!" said the doctor. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall.
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