"Where is the boy?" demanded Sir Rowland. He felt her warm breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair as she leaned over him. The mob now directed their attention to Newgate; and, from their threats, appeared determined to fire it. The thought allured him, and therein lay the danger. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed.
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