" "But that's not all, your honour," continued Charcam; "Mrs. "Is she returned!" "Y—e—s, Sir Rowland," stammered Charcam. "I can never get poor Tom's last look out of my head, as he stood in the Stone-Hall at Newgate, after his irons had been knocked off, unless I manage to stupify myself somehow. At the same moment a martial flourish, proceeding from cow's horns, tin canisters filled with stones, bladders and cat-gut, with other sprightly, instruments, was struck up, and, enlivened by this harmonious accompaniment, the troop reached its destination in the best possible spirits for an encounter. At this time of day the priest would be at his apartments in Brewer Street, a short walk away from Golden Square which the building overlooked.
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