The men have never had so much work to do since they banded. "My heart," rejoined Thames, firmly; "which now tells me I am in the presence of his murderer. "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. Give me the chisel, Blueskin.
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