A simple wooden monument was placed over the grave, but without any name or date. In the grate were some charred fragments of a marriage certificate. Old Newgate was divided into three separate prisons,—the Master's Side, the Common Side, and the Press Yard. The wound lay open for five seconds, and then closed neatly as if it had been stitched by invisible hands. I saw the metal box a hundred times, but I never thought of opening it until the day I fled. "What's your name?" he said, addressing the audacious lad, who was looking about him as coolly as if nothing material was going on.
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