" "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. He went more easily this time. ‘It is of no use to try to stop me. “It’s jolly,” he said, “to feel you have come to me. Full twenty highwaymen blithe and bold, Rattled their chains in that dungeon old; Of all that number there 'scaped not one Who carved his name on the Newgate Stone.
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