\"I guess so. It was a serene and charming evening, and twilight was gently stealing over the face of the country. The place pulsed with music too loud to converse above. Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. I’m going to tell you things plainly. "My portrait!" echoed Jack. He took a handful of the gravelly mud, with which the platform was covered, and threw the small pebbles, one by one, towards the gleam. He still watched her and questioned her. There’s no logic in these things. Nothing material occurred to Newgate, until the memorable year 1666, when it was utterly destroyed by the Great Fire. “No, John, you won’t understand.
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