Close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance. " "Jack's a noble fellow," exclaimed the head-jailer of Clerkenwell Prison, raising his glass; "and, though he played me a scurvy trick, I'll drink to his speedy deliverance. " "But you will,—won't you?" she rejoined, looking him coaxingly in the face. About nine o'clock, an immense mob collected before the Lodge at Newgate.
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