As usual the substantive sister—Prudence—did all the talking for the pair; Angelina, the shadow, offered only her submitting nods. They had escaped from the New Prison, it is true; but the wall of Clerkenwell Bridewell, by which that jail was formerly surrounded, and which was more than twenty feet high, and protected by formidable and bristling chevaux de frise, remained to be scaled. There was none. “It—it—must come,” she faltered. . “Lucy? Ms. ” Lucy would always press her face into her mother’s skirts when she heard the ending, no matter how many times she heard it.
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