A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. " "Most likely," observed Jonathan, with a slight sneer; "the ghost of some highwayman who has just breathed his last in Newgate, no doubt. ” “That’s one of our differences. " "O Heavens!" screamed Winifred, while her father lifted up his hands in silent horror. I’m sorry Lucy. Here your nephew will speedily be thrown.
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