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‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. ToC Monday, the 31st of August 1724,—a day long afterwards remembered by the officers of Newgate,—was distinguished by an unusual influx of visitors to the Lodge. “She has lost something,” he declared, “something which brought the men in crowds around the stage at the ‘Ambassador’s. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent.
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