“She wasn’t sane, my wife. Shotbolt, who had in some degree recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the prisoner. But it was almost choked up with fallen stacks of chimneys, broken beams of timber, and shattered tiles. The procession now wound its way, without further interruption, along Holborn. These galleries were separated in the middle by iron grates.
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