“You poor little girl!” he cried. But he might have broken out of prison, and yet not got over the wall of Clerkenwell Bridewell. “I have hurt my father,” she said; “I have hurt my aunt. He had a handsome, jolly-looking face; stood six feet two in his stockings; and measured more than a cloth-yard shaft across the shoulders—athletic proportions derived from his father the dragoon.
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