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Meantime, the Stone Hall was crowded by all the inmates of the jail, debtors, felons, turnkeys, and officers who could obtain permission to witness the ceremony of the prisoner's irons being struck off. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. A familiar figure was making his way towards them. Her father’s step quickened to a trot. And so bitterly did the carpenter reproach himself with his neglect, that he resolved, at all risks, to go back in search of it.
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