" As he spoke, the door of the round-house was opened, and a stout man, with a lantern in his hand, presented himself at the threshold. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. In this state, he was laid upon a bench, to sleep off his drunken fit, while his wretched mother, in spite of her passionate supplications and resistance, was, by Blueskin's command, forcibly ejected from the house, and driven out of the Mint. ’ There was a chuckle in his voice. He is in Newgate.
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