"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. He shrugged and, to Gerald’s relief, made to leave at last. I hope that she is okay. “It may be true, but it isn’t quite what I have in mind. ‘I know you, Gerald. But all that could be ascertained in the village was, that a man had ridden off a short time before in the direction of London. ‘Well, shan’t I come to the major’s house up Stratton Street, sir?’ ‘I’ll give the major your report, Trodger. And she would have to go tomorrow. That, Sir, is what I call being a Good Samaritan. Mrs.
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