"What is a sing-song girl?" she asked. " "A key!" exclaimed Wood eagerly. “Mr. . If we were to wait till a prig was rightfully nabbed, we might tarry till doomsday. A dry cough's the trumpeter of death. “Don’t you have a wife? Where are your children?” She asked. Ennison’s manner was certainly not one of a willing host. Wood, with a look meant to reduce her supposed rival to the dust. "Now, give me the woollen cloth to tie round my fetters," whispered Sheppard.
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