“He has a stubbly yellow moustache, weak eyes, and great horrid hands. I’ve always had a sneaking desire for the writing-trade. As soon, however, as the last solemn rites were over, and the remains of the unfortunate woman committed to their final resting-place in Willesden churchyard, his firmness completely deserted him, and he sank beneath the weight of his affliction. Only first you must find the lantern and light it again and leave it here, near the door, for me to find. A deep silence, however, now prevailed, broken only by the tolling of the bells of Newgate and St. ‘Now then, missie.
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