Pretty! Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights! “You shall tell me your faults,” said Manning. "You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. "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.
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