He heard the woman talking again. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. Winifred's face had a thoroughly amiable look. But, as this produced no effect, and did not even elicit a groan, the prisoner was carried back to Newgate. I was Annabel the rake, ‘Alcide’ of the music halls.
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