She put her mouth on him. ” “Damn!” he remarked at the defaced letter; and, taking a fresh sheet, he recopied what he had written. Yet she held her tongue. If you forget your sex, jade, I must forget mine. She was quite the rage, in a small way, you know. “Sit down,” he said, and perused—“perused” is the word for it—for some moments. As the day wore on, the crowds diminished,—many who would not submit to the turnkey's demands were sent away ungratified,—and at five o'clock, only two strangers, Mr. Jonathan looked in that direction, and beheld the fugitives riding off in triumph. The assemblage which was gathered together was almost countless. The arrival of the cart at the end of Field Lane, appeared the signal for an attempt at rescue. But then—Oh! Madam, there are moments—moments of darkness, which overshadow a whole existence—in the lives of the poor houseless wretches who traverse the streets, when reason is well-nigh benighted; when the horrible promptings of despair can, alone, be listened to; and when vice itself assumes the aspect of virtue. The first of these, the Press Room, a dark close chamber, near Waterman's Hall, obtained its name from an immense wooden machine kept in it, with which such prisoners as refused to plead to their indictments were pressed to death—a species of inquisitorial torture not discontinued until so lately as the early part of the reign of George the Third, when it was abolished by an express statute. Your old rooms are there, if you choose.
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