Of course, at home there would have been questions. His breakfast despatched, which he ate with a wolfish appetite, he walked over to Newgate, chuckling as he went at the consternation which his appearance would create amongst the turnkeys. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. But he would make it a point not to speak again to the girl.
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