‘Ha! It’s you, is it?’ He threw a glance at his two juniors. Both had very singular faces; very odd wigs, very much pulled over their brows; and very large cravats, very much raised above their chins. Though scarcely two hours past midnight, it was perfectly light. "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. Hill closed his eyes. Maggot.
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