Then the storm broke. By and by the tramp of horses' feet was heard slowly ascending Snow Hill, and presently a troop of grenadier guards rode into the area facing Newgate. In the northwest angle, there was a small pen for female offenders, and, on the south, a more commodious enclosure appropriated to the master-debtors and strangers. Straitened circumstances would not have mattered; a mother would have managed somehow. “How shall I put the question? What am I? What have I got to do with myself?. ’ ‘A pretty tale.
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