Though by no means so extensive or commodious as the modern prison, Old Newgate was a large and strongly-built pile. ‘Oh, you may come to me on any mission you like,’ uttered Mrs Sindlesham roguishly. “You say that he is alive. I must apologize, I suppose, for speaking to you, but your appearance certainly indicated that you were in some sort of trouble, and you were becoming—pardon me—an object of comment to the passers-by. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react.
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