"To be sure, it's not surprising the poor little thing should be so marked; for, when I lay in the women-felons' ward in Newgate, where he first saw the light, or at least such light as ever finds entrance into that gloomy place, I had nothing, whether sleeping or waking, but halters, and gibbets, and coffins, and such like horrible visions, for ever dancing round me! And then, you know, Sir—but, perhaps, you don't know that little Jack was born, a month before his time, on the very day his poor father suffered. She was breathing hard, dragging for air, half in fright and half because the sudden effort had used up what little air she had managed to draw so briefly. "Hold!" cried Kneebone, flinging down the packets; "they are nothing to me. The light of memory flashed in the man’s face. One of the sampans was hailed, and a ropeladder was lowered. "Some dreadful deed is about to be committed, which I may perhaps prevent," muttered Jack to himself.
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