Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. She was finally dead, going to Hell. Coat, on the present occasion, he had none, it being more convenient, as well as agreeable to him, to pursue his avocations in his shirtsleeves; but, when fully equipped, he wore a large-cuffed, long-skirted garment, which had once been the property of his master. He is in Newgate. ’ ‘You can arrest me,’ answered Kimble belligerently, ‘but you can’t make me say nothing about her. What of it?” There was a shout of laughter.
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