"Don't leave him, if you're at all fearful, my dear," replied Wood, receiving the little burthen with a laugh. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. The ticket line filtered slowly into the glass doors, growing louder and more boisterous by the minute. You may well say it's impossible! His Majesty's jail of Newgate is admirably guarded, I must say.
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