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ToC Monday, the 31st of August 1724,—a day long afterwards remembered by the officers of Newgate,—was distinguished by an unusual influx of visitors to the Lodge. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. He took into his soul some of the father's misery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own. She kissed Cathy's soft cheek as she entered the warm kitchen. “You’re an idiot and your attitude is repugnant.
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