’ ‘You little fiend,’ exclaimed Gerald wrathfully. The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night. "God in Heaven!" he cried, "the floor is covered with blood. Then the girl was heading past the inn and Roding marched down to confront her. ’ ‘Captain Roding, sir,’ put in Gerald, adding on a jocular note, ‘Another of the green whippersnappers you had to contend with some years back. Anything that drew attention to her must be avoided. ’ ‘A pox on the creature,’ swore Mrs Sindlesham, clenching and unclenching her stiff fingers. "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.
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