When gallant TOM SHEPPARD to Tyburn was led,— "Stop the cart at the Crown—stop a moment," he said. ‘Mademoiselle,’ he had greeted her, entering the little private parlour where, Martha being at prayer in their room, she sat alone, reading over and over the letter Mother Abbess had given her and revolving plans in her head. "You know what I mean," said the trader, gravely. Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her.
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