Shotbolt, the head turnkey of Clerkenwell Prison, and Mr. It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. He resented being regarded as irregular. "My God! will you see your child strangled before your eyes, and not so much as scream for help?" said Wood, staring at the widow with a look of surprise and horror. Her eyes still had the fevered glow of sickness, yet she seemed in perfect health.
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