‘I’ve finished me report, sir,’ Trodger said aggrievedly. The mob now directed their attention to Newgate; and, from their threats, appeared determined to fire it. He yelled to her, asking her if she wished to have a drink with him, which she refused. “Someone must have found it and taken good care of it. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him.
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