"How shall I get to you?" "My yacht is in the river. Meanwhile, the executioner had attached strong cords to his ankles and wrists, and fastened them tightly to the iron rings. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. Fifty sent home. They crossed the street, and entering the front door passed up the outside stone steps of the flat. "Here, Tom," he added, calling to a shop-boy, "run and fetch a constable. His firmness never deserted him till his old master, Mr. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales.
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