"I believe he's gone," he said, returning to Jonathan. “What year was 221 that, about 1350?” He asked in wonderment. "I'm sorry for old Newgate that another jail should have it. Sheppard," said the carpenter, advancing to meet her, and trying to look as cheerful and composed as he could; "what brings you to town, eh?— Nothing amiss, I trust?" "Nothing whatever, Sir," answered the widow. “My dear Vee!” Her voice became very low.
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