" Spurlock, who was absorbing this talk thirstily, laughed. She turned with an effort. They had escaped from the New Prison, it is true; but the wall of Clerkenwell Bridewell, by which that jail was formerly surrounded, and which was more than twenty feet high, and protected by formidable and bristling chevaux de frise, remained to be scaled. She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street. ‘You do not know how I am like my mother. She stood 218 there, broken bottle still in hand. And I do not know you.
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