So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. And how could I come home—when he locks me in rooms and all that?” “I do wish this wasn’t going on,” said Miss Stanley, after a pause. The night his execution was therefore passed in a most anxious state of mind; nor was his uneasiness allayed by the appearance of Jonathan Wild, who, after he had been driven from the roof of the jail, repaired to the Middle Stone Ward in a fit of ungovernable passion, to vent his rage upon the prisoner, whom he looked upon as the cause of the present calamity. I can’t do it even decently myself, and I dare not run the risk of ruining all my clothes. I do not even know his name. Her heart ached; and that puzzled her.
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