"Mr. ’ *** In the cosy little parlour that Pottiswick rarely used, Melusine paced restlessly to and fro. Old thoughts, old feelings, old faces, and old scenes have returned to me, and I have fancied myself happy,—as happy as I am now. And then suddenly—a relief. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. His breakfast despatched, which he ate with a wolfish appetite, he walked over to Newgate, chuckling as he went at the consternation which his appearance would create amongst the turnkeys.
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