Next to the executioner stood his wife—the former Mrs. "You're not out yet, you young hound," rejoined Quilt, striving ineffectually to burst open the door. She stood there with white set face and nervously clenched fingers. " As he said this, the carpenter patted the cheek of the little object of his benevolent professions, and, in so doing, unintentionally aroused him from his slumbers. At last, after a long rumbling journey in a stuffy windowless van, she reached Canongate Prison—for Holloway had its quota already.
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