Manning. A young man was playing the banjo. Having now fairly got out of Newgate for the second time, with a heart throbbing with exultation, he hastened to make good his escape. "And Jack?" "Gone too," sobbed his daughter. Now he lay there, a doubled-up mass, with ugly distorted features, and a dark wet stain dripping slowly on to the carpet. He stamped his last letter as Annabel entered. She hesitated.
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