Always her prayers ended—'And may my beautiful mother guide me!' No. You may well say it's impossible! His Majesty's jail of Newgate is admirably guarded, I must say. At the same moment a martial flourish, proceeding from cow's horns, tin canisters filled with stones, bladders and cat-gut, with other sprightly, instruments, was struck up, and, enlivened by this harmonious accompaniment, the troop reached its destination in the best possible spirits for an encounter. It was her foster brother Mike, on his way to the bathroom.
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