ToC About an hour after the occurrences at Newgate, the door of the small backparlour already described at Dollis Hill was opened by Winifred, who, gliding noiselessly across the room, approached a couch, on which was extended a sleeping female, and, gazing anxiously at her pale careworn countenance, murmured,—"Heaven be praised! she still slumbers—slumbers peacefully. The truth was impossible, indecent. Sir John gave his order, deliberately stumbling now and then over a word, and anglicizing others. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that.
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