We were to live in some wretched London suburb. "I'm never satisfied with a first attempt. I was in Lancashire, at our family seat, at the time you mention. His eyes never left her face. ‘I thought, you see, that we might as well enter by the same way our intruder had done. One or two of the tables were occupied by groups of fat frowzy women in flat caps, with rings on their thumbs, and baskets by their sides; and no one who had listened for a single moment to their coarse language and violent abuse of each other, would require to be told they were fish-wives from Billingsgate. At this terrible juncture, Jack maintained his composure,—a smile played upon his face before the cap was drawn over it,—and the last words he uttered were, "My poor mother! I shall soon join her!" The rope was then adjusted, and the cart began to move. An ill-lined purse is a poor recompense for the risk I have run.
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