"It is with no small concern," writes an anonymous historian of Newgate, "that I am obliged to observe that the women in every ward of this prison are exceedingly worse than the worst of the men not only in respect to their mode of living, but more especially as to their conversation, which, to their great shame, is as profane and wicked as hell itself can possibly be. ‘You can if you like. If I were Mr. "He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back. Come down with me to the Lodge directly. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. ‘But if you must fight so furiously, I don’t see how I can promise not to do it again. Then she came a few steps to meet him.
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