"I can never get poor Tom's last look out of my head, as he stood in the Stone-Hall at Newgate, after his irons had been knocked off, unless I manage to stupify myself somehow. The teacher droned on and on about the mournful funerary love of Romeo and Juliet, a tale she had long since tired of. She could stow away, go to a place where there were no people to eat and end her life. "What has put it into your head that your son yet lives?" he asked. She looked up quickly. Altogether different. Even in the daylight, it had a sombre and suspicious air, and seemed to slink back from the adjoining houses, as if afraid of their society. I have since received a most extraordinary letter from her. Mother had forced Lucy to memorize the ingredients of the stews, fairly beating them into her, spanking her backside when she rebelled. A paralyzing horror was upon her.
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