In this way, Jack was brought back to Newgate, and again chained down in the Middle Ward. Here he was almost stunned by the deafening clamour resounding on all sides. “I don’t love him,” said Ann Veronica, getting a gleam. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. She could smell the savory tinge of his sweat in the air.
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