of like, one seventy-five or something?” She looked at Michelle with worry. It had ceased raining, but the atmosphere was moist and chill, and the ground deluged by the recent showers. “I’ll be here at one in the morning. In this way, Jack was brought back to Newgate, and again chained down in the Middle Ward. The entrance of Shoe Lane, and the whole line of the wall of St. Kneebone, having been alarmed by something in the widow's look before her feelings found vent in the manner above described, thrust his hand instinctively into his coat in search of his pocket-book,—about the security of which, as it contained several letters and documents implicating himself and others in the Jacobite plot, he was, not unnaturally, solicitous,—and finding it gone, he felt certain he had been robbed. .
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