" Jack approached her. She was flushed, and her eyes were bright and angry; her breath came sobbing, and her hair was all abroad in wandering strands of black. But, urged by his wife's cries, who was more anxious for the preservation of her child's life than her own, he snatched up the infant, and made his escape from the back of the premises. Come, come, be reasonable, and listen to me. “You have killed me. Along the floor ran an iron bar to which Jack's chain was attached, so that he could move along it from one end of the chamber to the other. “What are you doing?” He cried. "Stand aside, Tom," commanded Kneebone. She made lumpish and inadequate interruptions rather than replies. "It is with no small concern," writes an anonymous historian of Newgate, "that I am obliged to observe that the women in every ward of this prison are exceedingly worse than the worst of the men not only in respect to their mode of living, but more especially as to their conversation, which, to their great shame, is as profane and wicked as hell itself can possibly be. Yet he was in a state of hopeless bewilderment.
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