Full twenty highwaymen blithe and bold, Rattled their chains in that dungeon old; Of all that number there 'scaped not one Who carved his name on the Newgate Stone. They found Ruth reading to Spurlock, whose shoulders and head were propped by pillows. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn.
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