All the turnkeys rose to salute the thief-taker, whose habitually-sullen countenance looked gloomier than usual. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. Besides," added he, opening the shawl in which the infant was wrapped, and throwing the light of the candle full upon its sickly, but placid features, "it's sinful to repine while you've a child like this to comfort you. But she doesn’t and won’t divorce me. "Now stand before me, Poll.
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