“Come, we must go home and have some luncheon. One or two of the tables were occupied by groups of fat frowzy women in flat caps, with rings on their thumbs, and baskets by their sides; and no one who had listened for a single moment to their coarse language and violent abuse of each other, would require to be told they were fish-wives from Billingsgate. Independently of other risks, and of the chance of breaking his neck in the descent, he was aware that to reach the leads he should have to break open six of the strongest doors of the prison. I next proceeded to Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane—there I got the same answer. She wondered abjectly whether he intended to rape her before she was dead. I know the Dutch. CHAPTER I. "Gone," replied the wounded man.
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