About nine o'clock, an immense mob collected before the Lodge at Newgate. And it is not at all his affair. " "Take a glass of gin, Ma'am," cried Poll Maggot, holding up a bottle of spirit; "it used to be your favourite liquor, I've heard. "Darrell's job was done early this morning," he said; "and if I'd attended to his advice, the packing-case would have been finished at the same time. You are wholly in my power.
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