"From that door," continued the thief-taker, pointing to the gloomy portal of the prison opposite which they were standing, "the condemned are taken to Tyburn. Wood?" "With pleasure," replied the woollen-draper. ‘Do you think I could endure to hear you prattling your abominable French in my ear day by day? Enough to drive me straight into my grave. By a sort of instinct. "Perhaps he means well. I'm his lieutenant,—Lieutenant Blueskin.
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