On this side a flight of wooden steps, protected by a hand-rail, led to a door opening upon the summit of the prison. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. ’ She shrugged. " "Most likely," observed Jonathan, with a slight sneer; "the ghost of some highwayman who has just breathed his last in Newgate, no doubt. It was horrible, but she must do it.
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