In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. Just as I might have killed another, if he had come out. She could not go to him when it was apparent that he needed her beyond all other instances! What had caused this agony did not matter—then. "My God! will you see your child strangled before your eyes, and not so much as scream for help?" said Wood, staring at the widow with a look of surprise and horror. "And, now,—to Newgate.
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