"At my first being acquainted with the place," says this writer, in the 'Miseries of a Prison,' "the prisoners, methought, walking up and down the Stone Hall, looked like so many wrecks upon the sea. "There it is!" cried Sir James, eagerly. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. She looked paler than ever; but her countenance, though bewildered, did not exhibit the alarm which might naturally have been anticipated from the strange and perplexing scene presented to her view. She was chic, distinguished, unusual. She uttered a little ejaculative note of joy and rushed to the bed. The few pence left in her purse would only provide a very scanty lunch. The baby was placed in her 19 lap. She visualized him as in a policeman’s uniform and quite impassive.
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