The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. “You have put all your life in my hands,” he declared. The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. Well, I was all for dragging in Bow Street there and then, and getting the pair of those fraudsters thrown in gaol.
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